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1923 3 


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THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
925-927 Filbert Street, Philadelphia 


PracticAL DIALOGUES 


FOR SCHOOL ENTERTAINMENT 


POR OR A Nea BR Des Bi Y 
AMOS M. KELLOGG 


Author of “Practical Recitations,” Ete. 


FOR CHILDREN OF TWELVE YEARS 


PHRILADELPHIA 
THe PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
1923 


Copyriacut 1903 sy E. L. Ketuoce & Co. 
CoprricuTr 1908 sy Tor Penn PusuisHing ComMPANY 


Practical Dialogues 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
SUMO MIN! BAN ale Siw ata wen bie 4s tel nlg gC dele a's Slold cia oan 5 
MOPeR ROU E AIEEE) VISITOR 6 nist oom aaa bie wie wd dics cic caboose tie Le 4's 4 
em MNNN PREPINEN | EGASIGE eran SUL natal mola S a'm $0 odin gia cise’ owhelal <)< 9 
nee Ree AMINATION odio cious welee Qe kee geislulsiae 12 
SRRMERE PEPIN VISES aio) oa Pac bs seis Loup us doled wie ate ble eed 16 
meen TessON YS Oks he ER a oh ie) 19 
Ree RRrM EET CEA IVEA NN Uae th 4 ice a alam dine wate win wa'e luis 23 
mr EMME OTINALESS! ESCN GS (oo Cd 6a ly etic alg's pe Sg ec ee a aele’s ntbiae 24 
eee EL OSES GRETA NS 101. Sate 0!) Wile salcithena aie Shlain a oujork & wb dibiel ate 26 
REE IIE os ow who, o's ain ABS balla Wid aw dd 4's x dia ata 28 
ROTO PEM ie Uae Ladd eee a eaie yew wll daly tre alads 31 
Pimreseree ees WAS CERAN BIN 6 eho ou Le you et era 34 
REESE fee Nu iivigtiaw sialdia Je Un su wala ynd ieme aioe oo 38 
REST Te TEIN 29002 0 01 9 NA EFL A a OCD a GD cen ENE A 40 
HMO ROM DAY II RUG OTORE S tabs Uae oN d sien wpe ee wialg Ul 42 
eCRERIROM SO RAT iN ny NGI Nan Whe bg aude Dy wins a oh°a;la iain rei etian ol Hun wae UR 46 
USEC MARLETOVGS PLOTTERS Wierd Sia ech ge bial S oi a ale wale Ua) wl ak 50 
ST CAVA SIO, LOOM ENG AE PT yc er Se ag 52 
Pe AAs Se ede ae PROM CHOI e 5a a aaa dia oslo 4 minis ac mts ated 55 
MEE MOCO TASER TSR TEC LER ADA E NS cy Hh cite ial ark oa Bical ws LOR hate Sina EN 4 58 
Bement enn VV Y tara yogi a Ria eis a alain tn hin aise ead «kala 60 
Penn: SOMES ED NG ELITES cha eee aretha sed wav aay enue Ut Gy 64 
RONG CIPI Cal ce eat ua aaa haan We a dia'a'a al S LU oe te inl whe LN 67 
Ry OMITUING eh est acl coal stg atta Se eth ovate IS jel ts nein hy 73 
DEERING A mUSTECT FOR AME SSA Mose e's cera. Oa ole 75 
PEE PEOPLE IMT LISGUISE se) alah Hic sa es SRST 78 
ADT ye gM S02 hy ies BG A URSA Sk BU as Oger 9 ge en aN 83 
AN AUTUMN EXERCISE. .........--.- Biers Wiring wale an arrears Urdu 85 


a Contents, 


PAGB 
AUNT RACHEL INTHE Crryi vets. iw we 2 ose w oie a bb See 
HELPS TO. REMEMBER, iy) ius occ cys cs o ene coe a ee + ke 
Doinc BUSINESS UNDER DIFFICULTIES. ...-...--.-.---+-ee- -/ “OS 
"THE CHURCH PARR. We ow cus oly clu a 0s eas o> be - 98 
HAMLET’S| FATHERS 05 cee beled Son ce bee een 10 
CHOOSING) A; PROFESSION: < oo os acc bc scl wie ne baie nl ae tet 
To THE NIGHT Ay Soe oe eb os SR ee 104 
My “BUSYIDAY O'S Ban Se oo i ala Ser - 105 
GETTING INFORMATION... .0 00.5020. 200.225 Lee - 108 
ATTENDING) A LECTURES 60. 5'5's s\alea aleve « Coots Seg eipta eee oat Eee 
MUSICIIN SCHOOL oti ae sie Soe a ns eee ae my) er | 


THE WONDERFUL DOCTOR.....cccccccccesercccccccccccsccscsssccoscccsess LIT 


TROUBLES  EVERVWHERE (cccleicecccvccecocessececsocesosuneieseiinnenni an an—mnanEs 
(Practical Dialogues.) 


[practical Dialogues. 


BE 


Going to School Pays. 


CHARACTERS: John, Charles, Henry. 


{John is seen walking slowly along with his hands in his pockets, 
whistling. Charles enters with his books in his hand, looking 
smart, walking briskly. Henry is a larger boy, and has a bundle; 
he walks briskly, too.] 

John. (Soliloquizing.) I wonder where I had better 
go to-day. I went down to the wharves yesterday, 
and they told me to clear out. I guess [ll go to Cen- 
tral Park to see the animals. The keeper asked me 
the last time why I didn’t go to school. (Looking.) 
I wonder what boy that is? (Enter Charles.) Hallo 

Charles. Hallo it is—why, John Jackson, don’t you 
know a fellow? 

J. Why, yes, I know you. I used to be in the class 
below you at the Primary School in Unity street. 

C, And what are you doing now? Why don’t you 
go to school? » 

J. Oh! I didn’t like it; the teacher was cross, you 
know, and scolded me all the time for being late, and 
staying out. 

C. Well, Miss Green was pretty strict, but I am 
getting along first-rate. I should think you would 
be lonesome in the streets. We have real nice times 
at school. 


6 JPractical Dialogues, 


J. It is lonesome sometimes, but I look at the men 
building houses, and building ships, and go up to the 
Park to see the animals. 

C. But what will you do when you get to be a man? 
You won’t be fit for any business, will you?—Hullo, 
there comes a boy who used to be in our Primary 
School—he graduated a year ago—I see him once in a 
while. (Hnter Henry.) Hullo, Henry! 

Henry. Hullo, Charley. Still going to school, I see, 
(slaps ihe books which Charles has on his back.) I 
tell you what, boys, it pays to go to school. 

C. That’s just what I was telling John. What are 
you doing? 

ff. Oh! I’m in business; I’m generai errand boy 
in a dry-goods store on the corner of Iceland street, 
don’t you know? 

J. Where the electric light is? 

eS a lresit 

C. What do you get a week, if it’s a fair question ? 

H. Three dollars, and I shall get a raise when I can 
learn more about keeping accounts. That’s why I 
say it pays to go to school. I learned to write in our 
primary, and that helps. Who’s this boy? (Poznis 
to John.) 

J. Oh, I used to go to the Primary school, too, but 
T didn’t like it. 

H. Oh, I remember, you were in Miss Green’s class; 
she was pretty strict with us, but I learned a great deal. 
I learned the tables and geography, and she had us 
write compositions. Well, why didn’t you stay? 
You could get a good place if you do well at school. 

C. So I tell him, and he cannot get a place if he don’t 
go to school—can he, Henry? 

H. No, sir; I wish I could go to school more, I 
could get a still better place. But I must hurry off, 
I tell you boys, they are stricter at the store than ever 
Miss Green was. (Evxit.) 


An Unwwelcome Wisitor, 7 


C. Imust go—I mean to be in time at school. (Sings.) 
“Be in time, be in time, 
Ii you would succeed 
Be in time.” (Exit.) 


J. Hold on, Charley, I guess I had better go with 
you. I don’t believe it pays to go around the streets. 
(Exit.) | 


2 


An Unwelcome Visitor. 


ScENE: An office. 
CHARACTERS: Mr. Brown, Mr. Jones. 


[Mr. Brown is sitting in his office; he has books, papers, etc., 
about him, and is very busy. Enter Mr. Jones.] 


Mr. Jones. Mr. Brown, I believe? 

Mr. Brown. Yes, sir. 

J. My name is Jones. [I live out on the cross-roads 
near the big white meeting-house, built by Capt. Car- 
ruthers when he came back from the war. 

B. Ah? 

J. Would you let me sit at your desk a moment ano 
use your pen? 

B. Certainly. (Rises.) 

J. I want to send a letter to a man that owes me 
$3.46; he ought to pay me, and I guess he will if I 
write tohim. CanlIuseasheet of your paper? (Seas 
himsel}.) 

B. Oh yes, certainly, certainly! 

J. Thanks. Will you just hang up my hat? I 
never can write with my hat on; my wife says it makes 
my head sweat and causes baldness. 

B. Ah! (Hangs ti up.) 

J. I like to have things right when I write (/aughs.) 
Why, that was a good joke, wasn’t it? 

B. Certainly. Oh! Yes. 


8 JPractical Dtaloques, 


J. I suppose I shall have to use an envelope. 

B. There they are. 

J. Could you spare me a stamp? 

B. Oh! yes. We keep stamps. 

J. I guess Pll put a little sample of wool in this 
letter. That man that owes me buys wool, and per- 
haps he will buy mine. Guess I'll have to get a larger 
envelope if you have one. 

B. Here is one. 

J. (Licks the stamp and puis it on, and then weighs 
the letter in his hand.) I am afraid that’s too heavy 
for one stamp. Guess I’d better put on another. 
Can you spare another? 

B. Here’s another. 

J. I like to be careful and put enough postage; 
there’s nothing mean about me. Some folks cheat the 
government all they can. Why, the Congressman 
from this county sends home his old boots by mail, 
and don’t pay for it, neither. 

. Is that soe 
. What time does this mail go out? 
. Where to? 
. To Belltown. 
. Really, I don’t know. 
. Why, it’s out on the R. R. Haven’t you a P.O. 
di rectory? 

B. Yes, here 1s one. 

J. (Looking in it.) I don’t see Belltown. 

(Brown takes tt.) 

B. Here it is. The mail goes out in about an hour. 

J. Are you going to the post-office, or down that 
way? I’ve got to go up by the court-house. 

B. Well, perhaps Pll take it. 

_ J. Don’t like to trouble you, you know. But as you 
are going I will leave it. (Rzses and goes to the door.) 

B. Allright. (Sits down and begins to write.) 

J. (Comes back.) You haven’t any water, have you? 


AUN 


: 


A Change of Rule, 9 


B. (Starts.) Water, yes; there is some. (Writes 
again.) 

J. How does this thing work anyhow? It’s one of 
those new-fangled things. Guess you’ll have to show 
me. (Brown ceases writing and shows him, and then 
returns.) Well, that water is pretty good. (Starts 
jor door and then returns.) Mail goes in about an 
hour, eh? 

B: Yes. 

J. Well, much obliged to you. Will drop in again 
sometime. (Evwit.) 

B. I hope not. I do hope not. I’ve got to be at 
that school meeting right away. Where is that fellow’s 
letter? I’m altogether too good-natured. (Evii.) 


2 we 


A Change of Rule. 


CHARACTERS: Several boys and girls. 


[Stage arranged with a table, upon which books and papers lie. 
A school-room bell also stands upon it. A large chair is placed 
before the table, or stand; at the right of the stage, and facing this, 
ten or twelve smaller chairs are set as for a school. Notice. Other 
pieces beside those given here can be substituted for them.] 


(One of the large boys enters. Looks about.) 


Large Boy. Heigho! What’s this? Ten minutes 
after nine and no teacher yet! Don’t believe he’s 
coming. Guess I'll tell the others and we'll have a 
little fun. ‘There’s no reason why we should not have 
school because the teacher’s not come. Seems to 
me I’d like to be teacher myself. (Puts on a pair of 
glasses, and taking the bell, goes out, bell rings. About 
ten boys and girls enter and take as many chairs. They 
look around for the teacher and talk. First large boy 
vyeturns and walks sedately up to the teacher’s place. 
Others begin to smile: he commences to speak in a grave 
tone:) 


IO Practical Dialogues. / 


Fellow students—The master in all probability will 
not be here this morning until late, if at all. Hem! It 
will be his wish that we be just as good and orderly as 
if in his actual presence, and, ahem! I move we do so. 
(Cheers from the other big boys.) We will omit the 
usual opening exercises and have a recitation in elo- 
cution. Will the boys and girls of the higher class 
please take their places on the floor? (Six of the oldest 
boys and girls, with mock gravity, stand in line. They 
jace the audience; eyes twinkling with jun.) 

1st large boy. You may repeat the declamations 
given last Friday. Short selections from each, ahem! 
Make your own choice. William Dudley (addressing 
boy aé right), will you begin? (Sits down. William 
begins an a loud, clear voice, using as good elocution as 
possible, and many gestures, some appropriaie, and 
ethers very much out oj place:) 


Ye crags and peaks, I’m with you once again! 
I hold to you the hand ye first beheld. 

To show they still are free. 

T ery to you with all my voice; 

Methinks I hear an answer in your echoes 
Welcoming your old tenant. 


1st girl. (Inierrupting.) 
Come hither, come hither, my little daughter, 
And do not tremble so, 
For 


ad girl. (Immediately:) 
Ji’s only the tiniest stream, 
With nothing whatever to do, 
But to creep from its mosses and gleam 
In just a thin ribbon or two, 
When it spills from the rock and besprinkles 
The flowers all round it with dew. 
Half-way up the hill-side—— 


Q Change of Kule, II 


ad boy. (Not allowing any pause:) 


Of Nelson and the north 
Sing the glorious day’s renown, 


When to battle fierce came forth 

All the might of Denmark’s crown, 

And her arms along the deep proudly shone; 
By each gun the lighted brand 

In a bold determined hand, 

And the Prince of all the land 


Led them on 


gd boy. 


3d girl. 


Like spectral hounds across the sky 

The white clouds scud before the storm, 
And naked in the howling night 

The red-eyed lighthouse lifts its form. 

The waves with slippery fingers clutch—— 


A district school not far away, 
Mid Berkshire Hill, one summer’s day, 
Was humming with its wonted noise 
Of three-score mingled girls and boys, 
(Pointing to the class.) 
Some few upon their task intent, 
But more on future mischief bent. 
(Pointing towards the others.) 


When suddenly behind his back, 


(The teacher walks quietly in, unseen by the others.) 


Rose sharp and clear a rousing SMACK. 
(Said with force.) 


Teacher [with a siariled look.| What’s that! 


[All turn; look scared, and hurry to their places. 


first large boy dojfs the glasses, and slips into his seat, 
The master smiles; he finally says im deep, grave 


voice: | 


Ahem! There will be no school here to-day. The 
Governor is in town and will shake hands at 10 o’clock 
with everybody. Scholars, you are dismissed. 

[Pupils all go cut, slowly jollowed by the master.] 


The 


12 wractical Dialogues. 


The Cross-Examination. 


CHARACTERS: Judge, Mr. Clapp (lawyer), Mr.Snap (do.), 
several jurymen, Sheriff, Clerk. 


[The judge should sit on a high seat and wear glasses; the law- 
yers must be able to get excited. One has a low bass voice, the 
other a high shrill voice. The jury of six will sit by themselves 
and look careless and indifferent. ‘The sheriff comes in first, then 
the lawyers, witness, and jurymen, the judge last; when he comes 
the sheriff calls out “‘His Honor, the Judge; hats off” and all rise, 
then sit. The sheriff gives the judge a seat; all talk together; the 
lawyer seats himself and brushes up his hair.] 

Judge. Call the Court, Mr. Sheriff. 

Sheriff. (Rises.) Oh yes, oh yes, the High Court 
for Jones County is now in session, and ali parties 
having business before it will present themselves with- 
out delay. (All shuffle ito seats. Sheriff raps, 
‘“Order in the court. The jury will please iake their 
seais.’’) 

Jud. Mr. Clerk, what case is on the calendar? 

Clerk. Porkins versus Dorkins, your honor. 

Jud. Who appears for Porkins? 

Mr. Clapp. I do, your honor (low bass voice.) 

Jud. Who appears for Dorkins ? 

Mr. Snap. I do, your honor (high shrill voice.) 

Jud. What is the case? You may open the case, 
Mr. Clapp. 

Mr. C. May it please the court, Mr. Porkins sold 
some old cheese—very fine old cheese—to Mr. Dorkins. 
Mr. Dorkins refuses to pay the bill, which is very 
moderate, only three dollars and fifty cents, and so suit 
is brought. And, your honor (much excited), the 
despicable thing about it is, that Mr. Dorkins says he 
never had the cheese. This makes the case remarkable 
—(shakes his fist)—one, yes, it is without a parallel. 
(Sits down and wipes his forehead.) 

S. May it please the court. On the part of Mr. 


Che Cross-Cramination, 13 


Dorkins, I do most emphatically declare (excitedly) 
that we never had the aforesaid cheese. And what is 
more, no one who has any regard for his life and health 
will allow himself to partake of such cheese as Mr. 
Porkins keeps at his store. (Sits down and wipes his 
jorehead.) 

Jud. Have you any witnesses, Mr. Clapp. 

C. Yes, Mr. Trap. 

Jud. Call the witness, Mr. Sheriff. 

Sh. (Rises and calls out loud.) Oh yes, oh yes, Mr. 
Flap, come into the court and give your testimony. 

C. Not Flap—I said Trap. 

Sh. Oh yes, Mr. Trap, come into court and give 
your testimony. 

(Witness looks much jrightei ed; stumbles along, and 
takes his seat.) 

C. Did you sell Mr.— 

S. I object. 

C. Don’t get excited. I’m going to get at the truth 
of this cheese business, and don’t you forget it. (Glares.) 

S. And don’t you forget you don’t ask any leading 
questions here in this here court. (Glares back.) 

Jud. ‘Tell what you know about the matter, Mr. Tap. 

Witness. Trap, your honor. 

Jud. Oh yes, Strap. 

C. Not Strap, but Trap. 

Jud. (Peitishly.) Why didn’t he say so then. Go 
on and don’t keep the court waiting so long. 

W. Mr. Dorkins came in one day, and said he could 
use twenty pounds of cheese. He said— 

©. L. object. 

C. Aha! you don’t want the truth to come out. 
But it shall all come out (excitedly). 

Jud. Go on. 

W. He said— 

S. I object to this— 

C. It’s easy to see why you object. 


T4 {ractical Dtaloques. 


Jud. Tell what was done—leave out what was 
said. 

W. Well, there is nothing to it if I leave out what 
was said. 

C. He may tell us that Dorkins took the cheese 
away—may he not? 

Jud. Yes, tell that. 

W. Well, he said the cheese looked lively enough to 
walk all the way to his house. 

S. I object— 

C. Oh yes, you’ll object to the verdict, too. ‘That is 
all. (Mr. Trap rises to leave the chair.) 

S. You may remain. J want to ask a few questions. 
Do you know Mr. Dorkins? 

W. Yes, sir. 

S. You say you think you know Mr. Dorkins? 

W. Yes, sir. 

S. Will you swear you know him? 

W. Yes, sir. 

S. Now don’t you mean that you are acquainted 
with him?. 

W. Yes, that’s it, acquainted with him. 

S. Then you don’t know him; you are merely 
acquainted with him? Remember that you are on 
your oath, sir. Now be careful. You don’t mean 
to tell the court that you know all about Mr. Dorkins 
everything that he ever did? 

W. No, I suppose— 

S. Never mind what you suppose. Please answer 
my question. Do you, or do you not, know every- 
thing that Mr. Dorkins ever did? 

W. No, I— 

S. That'll do, sir. No, you do not. Very good. 
So you are not acquainted with all his acts? 

W. Of course— 

S. Stop there. Are you, or are you not? 

W. No. 


* 


Che Cross-Cramination. 15 


S. That is to say, you are not so well acquainted 
with him as you thought you were? 

W. Possibly not. 

S. Just so. Now we begin to understand each 
other. If you don’t know anything about Mr. Dor- 
kins’ acts when you are not with him, you can’t swear 
‘hat you know him, can you— 

W. lf you put it that way— 

S. Come, sir, don’t seek to evade my question. 
Pll put it to you again. When you say you know 
Mr. Dorkins, you don’t mean to say you know every- 
thing he does, do you? 

W. Why, no, sir; of course not. 

S. Just so; of course not. Then you were not 
quite correct when you said you knew Mr. Dorkins. 

W. No, sir,—not— 

S. In point of fact then you don’t know Mr. Dorkins? 

W. No, sir, not as— 

S. Ah, I thought so, That’ll do, sir. You can 
stand down. Now, gentlemen of the jury, you see 
how the case stands. Here is a worthy man accused 
of buying cheese and not paying for it. In the first 
place, Porkins’ cheese is notoriously bad; and in the 
second case, this cheese was particularly lively, and 
in the third place, this witness says he doesn’t know 
Mr. Dorkins after all. What could be plainer? 
There’s nothing in this claim. 

C. Now, gentlemen of the jury, we have shown 
that Dorkins bought the cheese, twenty pounds of it 
(excitedly). What can be plainer? Shall men in 
this country buy cheese and not pay for it? Perish 
the thought (excited)! No, gentlemen; give him 
justice. He has sold his cheese; he has a large family; 
he needs the money. Dorkins gloats over his ill- 
gotten gains. Justice is what we want (Joud). Jus- 
tice we must have at any cost (/ouder), and you must 
give him justice. 


16 Practical Dialogues, 


(A dinner bell is heard.) 

J. The court will charge the jury appropriately 
concerning this important matter, but now it is ad- 
journed for dinner. 

Sh. Oh yes, Oh yes, court is adjourned for dinner. 

(Exeunt.) 


Ve 8 8 
The Evening Visit. 


CHARACTERS: Grandfather Jones, Mr. Jones, Frank 
Jones, Ned Beedle. 

[Grandfather Jones is sitting in an arm-chair with his head tied 
up, holding a cane; he is very deaf. When he speaks it is very loud. 
Mr. Jones is reading a newspaper. Frank is reading a book. A 
knock is heard at the door. Frank opens it.] 

Frank. Good evening, Ned. 

Ned. Good evening. How do you do? 

Mr. Jones. Good evening, Ned. We are all pretty 
well. Take a chair. (Resumes reading.) 

Grandjather Jones. (Loud.) Who is it? Who is it 
just came in? 

fF. Ned Beedle. 

G. Ned Peters! Who is Ned Peters, eh? Where 
does he live? 

fF. Ned Beedle. 

G. Ned Peters! I don’t know Ned Peters! Who 
is he? What does he want? 

F. (Loud.) I said Ned Beedle. 

G. What! 
Mr. J. and F. Ned Beedle. 

G. Oh, Ned Beedle! Why didn’t you say so at 
first? Well, what does he want—Neddy Beedle, eh? 

N. B. Good evening, Grandpa. 

G. Was it your father or grandfather that was at the 
battle of Bunker Hill? 

NN. My grandfather, I suppose. 


- 


Che Chening Wisit, 19 


G. What? your grandmother! No, young man; 
it couldn’t have been your grandmother— 

N. I said my grandfather. 

G. No, you didn’t. I heard you say grandmother 
(mumbles). 

Mr. J. Come father, come let’s talk of something; 
else. How are the crops down your way, Mr. Beedle? 

N. Very fine—our oats are going to yield forty 
bushels to the acre. 

G. What’s that; does he say our dog Bose is four- 
teen years old? No such thing! 

F. We were talking about oats, grandpa. 

G. About boats! What boats? Whose got a boat 
around here? 

Mr. J. (Loud.) About oats; he says his oats will 
give forty bushels to the acre. 

G. That’s a pretty story! What does he know 
about oats? That’s like his story about his grand- 
mother being in the battle of Bunker Hill— 

Mr. J. Why, grandpa, he said his grandfather; 
you did not hear him distinctly. 

G. (Shaking his cane.) Don’t tell me; I can hear 
a great deal better than you think. He said his grand- 


- mother fought at the battle of Bunker Hill. 


Mr. J. Come now, father, don’t say any more this 
evening. 

F, Were you at meeting last Sunday, Ned? 

INN Yes, and I think I never heard such a good 
sermon. Mr. Robinson preached pretty plain, didn’t 
he? 

F. Yes, and the Smith family needs it. Think of 
what goings on they have had at their house. (Both 
laugh.) 

G. What are they laughing at? Are they laughing 
at me? 

Mr. J. Oh no, father; they were ae about the 
Smiths. 


18 practical Dialogues. 


G. What Smiths? Deacon Smith? 

F. No; Peter Smith; they had a great party there 
last week. 

G. No one told me about it before. What did 
they do? 

F’. Why, some one upset a wagon. 

G. What is there to laugh at in that? First a big 
story about his grandmother being at Bunker Hill, 
and now another one about Deacon Smith? 

IN. It was Peter Smith, not Deacon Smith. 

G. I heard you say Deacon Smith. 

Mr. J. Come, father, try and get a nap. 

G. I can’t sleep as long as Ned Beedle is here; he 
lalks so loud that no one can hear themselves think. 

Mr. J. Why, grandpa! 

NN. I think I had better go (rises). 

Mr. J. No, no; sit down; grandpa is a little cross; 
don’t go. 

NN. (stts) I went over to Marshfield yesterday, and 
saw the elephant that Barnum has just bought. There 
was fear that he would escape. He ran up Barker’s 
Hill, and— 

G. What does he say about Bunker Hill? Is he 
telling more stories about his grandmother? 

Mr. J. No, father; he is telling about the elephant 
at Barker’s Hill. 

G. That’s some more of his nonsense. I tell you 
there was no elephant at Bunker Hill. 

F. He said at (loud) Barker’s Hill. 

G. Barker hasn’t got a mill. Does Ned Beedle 
say he has? 

Mr. J. (Loud.) He said Barker’s Hill. 

G. Oh! that’s it. 

f. Grandpa is queer to-night. 

IN. He seems so. 

G. (mumbles) He’s come here to-night to spark 
our Sally. Don’t tell me. I know it. That’s why 


Che Music iesson, 19 


he put his good clothes on. That’s why he told us 
about his grandmother at Bunker Hill, and forty 
bushels of hops, and Deacon Smith’s party, and Bar- 
ker’s grist mill. Ned Beedle ain’t smart enough 
for our Sally— 

Mr. J. Father, father, you must not go on SO." 
Never mind him, Mr. Beedle. 

WW. L- see’ the old gentleman has a grudge aeanee 
me, and I’ll come some other time. 

F. Well, come soon, and don’t stay away on account 
of grandpa. 

N. Good night. 

F. and Mr. Jones. Good night. 

G. What! Is he going? Is Ned Beedle going? 
Not going to see Sally? He’s a fool then. 

N. Not to-night, sir; some other time. (Evit.) 

[Curtain falls.] 


2 2 


The Music Lesson. 


CHARACTERS: Jeremiah Trombone, Prof. of Music; 
Tom Roberts, a favorite pupil; Sam Jones, Billy Kelly, 
Jim Turner, dilatory pupils. 

[Enter Trombone and Roberts jrom different sides; Roberts a little 
chead.} 

Trombone. (Laying down his hat and cane.) Why, 
good morning, Master Roberts! You are very prompt. 
J thought I should be here before you. 

Tom. Well, you remember you said you wished to 
see me for something in particular a half hour before 
the other boys came. 

Trom. Oh, yes; I had forgotten it. Now, Tom, 
T’ll tell you what I want. There are three boys in 
the lower class that did not know a word of their 
music lesson yesterday, and I promised them an 
extra drill this morning. 


20 practical Dialogues. 


Tom. Then I may as well go, as I suppose I’ll be 
in the way. 

Trom. Oh, no. The fact is I’m engaged at another 
school this morning, and I want you to give the boys a 
drill. You are one of the best pupils I have in the 
class. 

Tom. Do you think me capable of teaching the 
boys? 

Trom. Entirely so. Now, Tom, give them a good 
drill. Here (hands a rattan), take this to beat time 
with, and if they don’t sing well, beat them with it. 
T’'ll go and send them in from their class-rooms. (Exit.) 

Tom. I guess I can beat the boys better than I can 
beat time. I’m in a pretty fix. Trombone thinks I 
can teach music, when I don’t know ‘‘Old Hundred” 
from ‘‘Yankee Doodle.’”? Never mind, I know the 
boys, and we'll have some fun, anyway. (Enter 
three boys.) Here they come! Well, boys, I suppose 
you have come in to finish the lesson in music which 
you missed yesterday. 

Sam. Yes, old Trombone said if we came into the 
music room, we would find a teacher here; but he 
didn’t say you missed your lesson, too. I supposed 
it was only Jim and Billy and I. 

' Yom. I didn’t miss my lesson. I never miss any. 
Prof. Trombone wished me to give you a good drill 
in music. 

Billy. You give us a drill? Ha! ha! that’s 
bully. 

Jim. So I say. Tom Roberts turned drill-master 
in music! 

S. I suppose we must make our bow, and say Pro- 
fessor Roberts. 

Tom. I confess, I think myself it is a little funny for 
you. Each of you knows more about music than I; 
but Professor thinks I am smart, you know, and it 
will be a good get off for you. I’ll go to my room 


Che Music Wesson. 21 


and get some music, for I see you have brought none 
with you. (E£xit.) 

B. Boys, what shall we do? 

S. Play the dickens with Tom, that’s what I’ll do. 

J. Yes, and he’ll report us, and then we’ll get Hail 
Columbia. I’m going to behave myself anyway. I 
know how old Trombone’s rattan feels. 

B. Tom Roberts don’t know one tune from another. 

S. Then we can sing anything we please. 

J. Sam, you and I can’t sing. Billy will have to 
do the whole for us. 

B. Don’t you know any tune, boys? 

S. I know the chorus to the “Battle Cry of Free- 
dom.” 

J. So do I, if somebody else sings it. 

B. Vl tell you, then, boys, what we’ll do. Tl 
sing a solo, and you will come in on the chorus. 

S. ’Clare if I know when the chorus comes in. 

J. Well, I can come pretty near it. 

B. Vl tell you I’'d do. When I get to the end of 
the solo, Pll snap my fingers and then you come in 
quick. 

S. Good! Then we’ll make no mistake. 

B. Now, be careful, boys, and do it right. 

(Enter Tom with music.) | 

Tom. Boys, stand in a row and I'll ask you some 
questions on the rudiments, after which we'll have 
some singing. (They stand as directed.) Sam Jones, 
what is music? 

S. A noise made by opening your mouth wide and 
screaming. 

Tom. Very good. Billy Kelly, tell me how music 
is produced. | 

B. According to Sam’s definition, I think it is best 
produced by the rattan. 

Tom. Very well said. Let me try it. (Hits him 
on the legs.) | 


22 Practical Dialogues. 


J. Oh! oh! I don’t like that way to produce 
music nor the music, either. I thought you were 
going to teach the rudiments. 

B. I think he is rude enough in his teaching. 

Tom. No ruder than you in your answers, sir; but 
we will proceed. Jim Turner, what is a sharp? 

J. Something pointed, like Billy Kelly, for exam- 

ple. He is a sharp boy. 

Tom. Very good, sir. I couldn’t answer better my- 
self. Sam, what is a flat? 

S. A number of rooms on one floor, sir. 

Tom. Excellent! excellent! I think Mr. Trom- 
bone will be pleased when I report this lesson. One 
more question on the rudiments. Which of you can 
tell me the relation of a sharp to a flat. (Szlence.) 
Cannot any of you tell? (Billy holds up his hand.) 
Well, Billy, what do you say? 

B. Well, at night if you don’t see sharp you’ll be 
flat. 

Tom. Capital! Nothing could be clearer. Now 
for singing. Sam, you can sing better than I—sup- 

, pose you start off. 

S. No, I can’t sing, but Billy Kelly can. 

Tom, Well, let Billy begin then. What will you 
sing? 

B. Well, I suppose you would like something 
patriotic. I propose that we sing the “Battle Cry 
of Freedom.” 

Tom. That’s grand. The very song they sang at 
the Battle of Bunker Hill. 

. B. Now, boys, be sharp on the chorus. (Sings.) 
‘Mary had a little lamb, it’s fleece was white as snow.’ 
(Snaps his fingers.) 

Boys. “Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom.” 

B. ‘And everywhere that Mary went the lamb was 
sure to go.” (Snaps.) 

Boys. “Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom.” 


Che Music iesson, 23 


Tom. Bravo, boys. I could not excel you. Go on 
with another verse. 

B. “It followed her to school one day, it was against. 
the rule.” (Snaps.) 

Boys. ‘Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom.” 

B. “It made the children laugh and play to see the 
lamb at school.” (Forgets to snap.) Why don’t you 
sing? ( 

Boys. Why don’t you snap your fingers? 

B. Really, Mr. Roberts, you mustn’t blame the 
boys; it was my fault. 

Tom. Well, we can’t give it up so. Can’t you give 
us another verse? 

B. (Scratching his head.) Oh, yes, now boys, 
seady on the snap. (Sings.) ‘“‘And so the teacher 
turned him out, but still he lingered near.” (Snaps.) 

Boys. “Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom.” 

B. ‘‘And waited patiently about till Mary did 
appear.” 

Boys. ‘Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom.” 

Tom. Splendid, boys, splendid. Old Trombone 
could not beat it. Come with me, and I will make a 
splendid report about the music lesson. (All bow 
and leave.) 


2 WE 
Acted Just Like a Man. 


A greedy dog, with a piece of meat in his mouth, lookep. 
into a stream of water. ‘There he saw his own reflection’ 
He thought it was another dog with another piece of meat. 
He opened his mouth to get it, and dropped his own meat 
into the water. 


2 2 2 


A kindly act is a kernel sown, 
That will grow to a goodly tree, 
Shedding its fruit when time has flown 
Down the gulf of Eternity. 
—JOHN Boyle O’KEILLyY. 


24 practical Dialogues. 


@  # 


Ten Times One is Ten. 


BY HAs S: 


- Cuaracters: Jack Harding, Tom Turner, Will Win- 
ter, and Billy Grey. 
[Enter Jack Harding carrying a book, takes a seat, opens book 


and begins to study; Tom Turner enters; Jack looks up; they 
nod to each other.] 


Tom. I say, Jack, what makes you so studious all 
of a sudden? (Jack does not look up.) Jackey, boy, 
I heard something good about you last night. 

Jack. It was somebody fibbing, I suppose. 

T. No, it wasn’t; but I don’t want to tease you, 
old fellow; I’m only spoiling for something to do. 
But here comes Billy. Trust him for not moping 
himself to death over his books. 

(Enter Billy and Will Winter.) 

Will. Good morning, boys. (Looks around and sees 
blackboard.) Hello! What’s that? Ten times one zs 
ten, hey? ‘Ten times one are ten. 

T. Why, that’s so, and it’s Mr. Potter’s writing, too. 
Ten times one are ten to be sure. 

J. How do you prove that, Will? 

W. Why, the antecedent ten is in the plura, there- 
fore the verb should be. 

B. That’s not the rule. This is what you mean: 
the noun ten is plural, therefore the verb should be, 
because verbs follow their nouns in person and number. 

J. Are you sure that the subject—noun, as you call 
it—is plural? Ten times one. Isn’t one the sub- 
ject, and ten times the modifier ? 

T. Of course, Billy. 

B. What do you know about it, any way? you 
know precious little grammar. 


Cen Cimes One is Ten, 25 


W. Come, Billy, none of that. The point is now 
how much you know about it? 

J. Get out Goold Brown, Billy; we never go behind 
him. 

(Enter Mr. Porter.) 

All, Good morning, Mr. Porter. 

Mr. P. Good morning, boys. 

W. We're just talking over that sentence on the 
board, whether it should not have been fen times one 
are ten. 

Mr. P. Well, what conclusion have you reached ? 

J. I hold that it should be ave, because the verb 
takes the same number as its subject without regard 
to its modifier. 

Mr. P. My dear Jack, there is no such rule in gram- 
mar, to my knowledge. 

W. Well, Billy, what do you find? 

Billy. (Reads.) When the nominative is a collective 
noun, carrying the idea of plurality, the verb must 
agree with it in the plural number, but when it conveys 
the idea of unity, the verb must be singular. 

Mr. P. Well, what idea does this convey? 

J. Plurality, does it not? 

Mr. P. Yes, it does. There is a great division of 
opinion upon that subject, but I believe it is generally 
accepted now as proper when the verb is written in 
the plural form. Now you had better go out for a 
little fresh air. I am soon going to ring the bell, and 
I like to have all march in from the hall together. 
(Lakes up the bell and follows them out.) 

J. Plurality, does it not? 

Mr. P. Does it? Why, it makes a single statement. 
Suppose I say, “Ten dogs jumping over the fence zs a 
pretty sight, or are a pretty sight.” Which? 

W. Why, ts. 

Mr. P. It is the “jumping over the fence” that is 
the subject really. 


26 practical Dialogues. 


J. I see it; (al!) So do we. (Noise heard.) 
Mr. P. The boys are assembling in the other room; 
let us go. (Exeunt.) 


% 


The Irish Politician. 


CHARACTERS: The Mayor, Mr. Michael Mutdoon, Ser- 
vant. 

[The Mayor is writing at a desk and tries to keep writing, the 
servant is sitting near the door. There should be books, etc. Mr. 
Muldoon is dressed in Irish style, has a tall hat on with narrow brim, 


and a thin stick that will make a noise when struck on the table. A 
knock is heard at the door. The servant opens it.] 


Mr. Muldoon. Good morning to your Honor. 

Mayor. Good morning, sir. 

Mul. Ym Mr. Michael Muldoon, and I live in the 
Fourth Ward, and I carries fifty votes, and I’ve come 
to tell you that my cellar is full of wather, indeed it is, 
and me hins will all be drownded if it isn’t fixed, and 
I want you to fix it, and that right away, too. 

Ma. (Busily writing.) I cannot help you, you must 
go to your landlord. 

Mul. To me landlord, is it? I carry (slaps the 
desk), do ye moind me now, I carry fifty votes, and I 
want that water got out of my cellar. 

Ma. I tell you I have nothing to do with your cellar. 
Go home and bail it out. 

Mul. Bail me cellar out, is it? Indade I did that 
and nearly broke me back, but the water won’t stay 
out. And I have, do ye moind me, fifty good votes 
in me ward. (Slaps the table.) 

Ma. (Writing busily.) You must excuse me, Mr. 
Muldoon, I have nothing to do with the matter. 
Better see the plumber. Here, Jones, carry this letter 
to the Comptroller, and bring me some more envelopes 


Che Frish Ioliticran. 27 


and paper; I have a good many letters to write. 
(Servant goes out.) You must excuse me, Mr. Mul- 
doon, I’ve said all I can say. 

Mul. And do ye mean ye won’t get the water out 
of Michael Muldoon’s cellar, and he having so much 
political influence—fifty votes, as I tell ye. Ye’ll not 
be Mayor next year if ye let the wather stay in me! 
cellar and me hins get drownded. (Slaps the table 
hard; Mayor jumps.) 

Ma. I tell you you must stop that and clear out. 
Go to your landlord—go to your plumber—go to your— 
your—why, to any body and have him to bail your cel- 
lar out, or do it yourself, only let me alone to do my 
work. 

Mul. (Excited.) I want you to understand I’ve got 
fifty votes as will vote against you (slaps the table), 
agin you, do you moind, if you let me hins drown— 

Ma. (Seizes a thin stick and slaps the table.) Clear 
out with your fifty votes and your hens. I’ve got busi- 
ness todo. (Servant returns.) Here, Jones, show Mr. 
Muldoon the way down stairs. (Jones opens the door.) 

Mul. And won’t ye be after fixing me cellar so me 
hins— (Slaps table.) 

Ma. (Slaps table.) No, I tell you; go and see your 
landlord— 

Mul. (Slaps.) I tell you I did and he— 

Ma. (Slaps.) Go to your plumber— (Siaps.) 

Mul. I tell you I did and he— (Slaps.) 

Ma. Well, then, bail it out yourselfi— 

Mul. (Slaps.) Vl bring them fifty votes agin you. 
There’s Patrick O’Hara that drives a cart, and two 
Chinamen— 

Ma. (Slaps.) Show him the door. 

Mul. (Going out, turns and slaps the wall.) You'll 
be sorry you trated me and my friends so. I’ve got 
fifty votes to throw agin you. And I won’t go to no 
landlord nor plumber. 


28 practical Dialogues. 


Ma. Well, then, Mr. Muldoon, sell your hens and 
keep ducks. 
Mul. No, I won’t; I'll go agin you. [E-xi#.] 


YE WE 


Hero Dick. 
By H. A. S. 


CHARACTERS: Dick, Tom, Jack, Mr. Greene, the teacher, 
and four other boys. 


SCENE: A small schoolroom; chairs arranged fer school; 
master’s desk or table with large chair. 


(Enter Dick and Tom.) 


Tom. Fire crackers this time of year? 

Dick. Yes, to-morrow is Christmas, you haven’t for- 
got that. 

T. Forgot! Not much. 

D. Well, you see, my uncle has just got home from 
China and they make all our fire crackers there; the 
very best, you know. 

T. Yes, I know. 

D. Well, Uncle Ned says they don’t have any Christ- 
mas there, but they have a New Years, and then they 
just set off fire crackers like fun. I can’t wait for New 
Years, so I’m going to set ’em off to-morrow. Ive 
got some of ’em in my pocket. (Brings a handjul 
out.) 

Enter Jack. Hello, Dick, what have you got? 

D. Fire crackers. Uncle Ned’s just got home and 
I’m going to have a Fourth of July and Christmas 
combined to-morrow. I want all the fellows to come 
around. 

(Four other boys now gradually come in and admire 
the crackers and talk about them. Presently the teacher 
comes in and the boys take their seats.) 


ero Wick, 29 


D. (Aside.) Say, Jack, don’t you want a cracker? 

(Hands him one.) 

J. Thanks. What a stir it’d make if we set one off 
in here. 

D. Don’t you do it! 


(Teacher rings the bell and school begins.) 


Teacher: Class in Arithmetic. (A class of five takes 
tis place bejore the teacher’s desk, being all in the school 
but Jack and Dick. Teacher assumes a very grave air, 
picks up the book and begins.) Frank Warner, what 
are fractions? 

Frank (Siarting.) Fractions — fractions — broken 
bones, sir. 

Tea. Class, what are fractions? 

C. Fractions are parts; fractions of numbers are 
parts of numbers. 

Tea. What was Frank trying to think of? 

T. Nothing, I should say. 

Tea. That will do for you, sir. What had Frank 
in mind when he gave his answer? 

C. Fractures. 

Tea. (Pompously.) Correct, Thomas, what is a com— 
(Fire cracker goes off in the back of the room. Scholars 
all jump. Jack is apparently studying; Dick looks up 
scared and surprised.) John, Richard, come here at 
once. (Boys rise and approach the teacher’s desk. 
When they reach 1t he coniinues.) ‘This is an outrage 
upon the sanctity of a place of learning. Young 
gentlemen—boys, I should say—ought to have more 
respect for their dignity than to commit such a breach 
of deportment (getting more and more excited). I am 
highly incensed and offended; whichever one of you 
did it shall be flogged, flogged; do you hear? John 
Wilson, was it your evil genius that caused such a 
disturbance during the arithmetic recitation? Have 
you fire crackers? 


30 Mractical Dialogues, 


J. No, sir; I haven’t any crackers. What do you 
accuse me for; I ain’t the only fellow in the room. 

Tea. Richard, is it you then who have given me 
this annoyance? Say, sir; do you hear me; speak 
out, Richard White; speak out I tell you. Deny it 
or own it. Was it you that did it? Will you own up 
to it, sir? 

D. No, sir. I will not own up to it. 

Tea. Will you deny it then; will you dare to deny 
it then, young man? 

D. No sir; I do not deny it; nor do I own up to it. 

Tea. A fine way to do. Step here, sir, for your neu- 
trality. Step forward, I say. (Dick steps forward.) 
Hold out your right hand. (Holds out his right hand, 
which the teacher hits smartly two or three times.) 
There, sir; you are not sufficiently punished for so 
base an act, but our work cannot be longer delayed. 
Retire to your seats, and pursue your lessons. (Looks 
at his ruler.) It is apparent that this stick is not 
large enough for the requirements of such a class of 
pupils. I will bring another that is. (Ewit.) 

J. (Jumps up.) I say, Dick, why didn’t you deny 
it? 

D. Because there were only us two, and he would 
see In a moment that one of us must have done it. 

J. Then, why didn’t you say right out that J did it? 

D. Because you said you didn’t, and what else could 
I do? 

J. How could you, old fellow. Boys, look here; I 
set off that cracker and Dick took the flogging. Do 
you hear? 

Boys: Hurrah for Dick! Stand up old fellow. 
(Dick rises and boys give cheers.) 

J. I say, boys; you all come round to our house to 
dinner to-morrow. Mother told me to ask you; only 
now it is for Dick’s glory; he'll be the big gun. Re- 
member that. 


Parlor Philosophy. 31 


B. Hurrah for Jack, too; Hurrah for Dick; Hurrah 
all around! (Amidst the noise the teacher enters carry- 
ing a large stick.) 

Tea. (Frowning.) Young men! What, more dis- 
order? 

J. Mr. Greene, do not be offended at the noise. 
Dick’s a hero, and the boys are cheering him. It 
was I who set off the cracker and let Dick get pun- 
ished. JI deserved the flogging! 

Tea. How’s that? 

J. Why, I said I didn’t have any crackers and I 
didn’t. I fired off the only one I had. 

Tea. I see, I see, I was too hasty. Richard, my 
boy, £ beg your pardon, I am sorry I didn’t look 
sharper. JI think we had better suspend the school; 
no one feels like studying. But John must stay in. 

B. Oh, Mr. Greene, let John off; he did a mean thing 
at first, but he came up to the mark afterward. 

Tea. Well, I will include John. 

B. Hurrah! Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Greene! 
(Rush out.) 

Tea. Merry Christmas, boys! (Sotto voce.) And 
that teaches me a lesson, too. (Evwit.) 


¥2 Bw 


Parlor Philosophy. 


CHARACTERS: Laura and Isabel. The girls are dressed 
very stylishly, both with hatson. Enter hand in hand. 


Laura. My dear Isabel, I was so afraid you would 
not come. I waited at that horrid station a full half 
hour for you. I went there early on purpose, so as to 
be sure not to miss you. 

Isabel. Oh, you sweet girl! 

L. Now sit right down; you must be tired. Just 
lay your hat there on the table and we’ll begin to 


32 practical Dialogues. 


visit right off. (Both lay their hats on the table and 
stand near to each other.) 

I. And how have you been all the ages since we 
were together at Boston? 

LI. Oh, pretty well, dear; those were sweet old 
school days, weren’t they? How are you enjoying 
yourself now? You wrote that you were taking 
lessons in philosophy. Tell me how you like it. Is it 
real sweet ? 

I. Oh, those I took in the winter were perfectly 
lovely! It was about science, you know, and all of 
us just doted on science. 

L. It must have been nice. What was it about? 

I. It was about molecules as much as anything 
else, and molecules are just too awfully nice for any- 
thing. If there’s anything I really enjoy it’s molecules. 

L. Oh, tell me about them, dear. What are mole- 
cules? 

I. They are little wee things, and it takes ever so 
many of them, you know. They are so sweet! Do 
you know, there isn’t anything but that’s got a mole- 
cule in it. And the professors are so lovely! They 
explained everything so beautifully. 

L. Oh, how I’d like to have been there! 

I. You'd have enjoyed it ever so much. They 
teach protoplasm, too, and if there’s one thing that 
is too really curious it’s protoplasm. I really don’t 
know which I like best, protoplasm or molecules. 

L. Tell me about protoplasm. I know I should 
adore it! 

I. "Deed you would. It’s just too sweet to live. 
You know it’s about how things get started, or some- 
thing of that kind. You ought to have heard the 
professor tell about it. Such a handsome fellow. 
Oh, dear! (Wipes her eyes with handkerchief.) The 
first time he explained about protoplasm there wasn’t 
a, dry eye in the room. We all named our hats after 


Parlor JAbhilosophy. 33 


the professors. This is a Darwinian hat. You see, 
the ribbon is drawn over the crown this way (takes 
hat and illustrates), and caught with a buckle and 
bunch of flowers. Then you turn up the side with a 
spray of forget-me-nots. Darwin was wonderful! 

L. Oh, how utterly sweet! Do tell me some more 
of science. I love if already. 

I. Do you, dear? Well, I almost forgot about 
differentiation. I am really and truly, positively in 
love with differentiation. It’s different from mole- 
cules and protoplasms, but it’s every bit as nice. And 
our professor! You should hear him enthuse about 
it; he’s perfectly bound up in it. And such a nice 
fellow. This is a differentiation scarf—they’ve just 
come out. All the girls wear them—just on account 
of the interest we take in differentiation. 

L. What is it, any way? 

I. Mull trimmed with Languedoc lace, but— 

L. I don’t mean that—the other. 

I. Oh, differentiation! That’s just sweet. It’s got 
something to do with species. And we learn all about 
ascidians, too. ‘They are the funniest things. If I 
only had an ascidian of my own! I wouldn’t ask 
anything else in the world. 

L. What do they look like, dear? Did you eves 
see one? 

I. Oh, no; nobody ever did but the dear professors} 
they say they’re something like an oyster with a reti- 
cule hung on its belt. I think they must be just too 
lovely for anything. 

L. Did you learn anything else besides? 

I. Oh, yes. We studied common philosophy, and 
logic, and metaphysics, and a lot of those ordinary 
things, but the girls didn’t care anything about those. 
We were just in ecstacies over differentiations and 
molecules and the professor and protoplasms and 


34 practical Dialogues, 


ascidians. I don’t see why they put in those common 
branches; we couldn’t hardly endure them. 

L. (Sighs.) Do you believe they’ll have a course 
like that next year? 

I. I think maybe they will. 

L. Dear me! There’s the bell to dress for dinner. 
How I wish I could study those lovely things! 

I. You must ask your father if you can’t spend the 
winter in Boston with me. I’m sure there’ll be another 
course of Parlor Philosophy next winter. But how 
dreadful that we must stop talking about it now to 
dress for dinner. You are going to have company, you 
said; what shall you wear, dear? 

L. Oh, almost anything. My pink skirt is lovely. 

I. Have you one? Oh, let me see it. (xeunt.) 


9 YE YE 


How the House was Cleaned. 


CHARACTERS: Mr. Brown, Mrs. Brown, Bridget. 


[Mr. Brown is in a room, with desk or table, papers, etc. de 
walks up and down and gesticulates.]} 


Mr. Brown. Misery and house-cleaning go together. 
The house is upside down from garret to cellar. . 
Everything is in disorder; nothing in its place; win- 
dows wide open; floors damp; walls smeared with 
lime that smells enough to make you sick, that rubs 
off every time you touch it. Wife calls it cleaning 
the house, but I call it more of a regular out-and-out 
upsetting, to be set to right again. For my part, I’d 
rather have a little dirt than so much lime and water. 
But this room is sacred and secure from mop and 
brush. I am safe here in my own private office, and 
one place, at least, shall remain as it is; no white- 
washing shall be done in this office this season. Per- 


ow the House twas Cleaned, 35 


haps sne has not thought of it; for she has not men- 
tioned it. (Steps heard outside.) I hear Mrs. Brown’s 
steps now coming. She has, I expect, returned with 
another bushel of lime. 

(Enter Mrs. Brown and Bridget, with pails, brooms, 
brushes, mop, etc.) 

Mrs. Brown. Now, Mr. Brown, we want to clean 
this room this morning. | 

Mr. B. This room don’t want any cleaning. 

Mrs. B. But it must be cleaned this spring. You 
know I let it go over last year to please you. 

Mr. B. Let it go again. It’s just as clean now as it 
was then, I’m sure. It’s been swept at least every 
day, and about once a week you’ve gone over every 
inch of the walls to sweep down the cobwebs. I never 
saw any cobwebs on the wall, and what’s more, I 
don’t see how any dirt could be left to clean now after 
a sweeping every day in the year. 

Mrs. B. See how black and smoky the walls are; 
and the windows are fairly curtained with dirt. 

Mr. B. Indeed! I don’t see any dirt. I think they 
are very clean. 

Mrs. B. Clean! Men never know when there’s dirt 
around; they would live like pigs if it wasn’t for their 
wives. But J want the house clean, so that I won’t be 
ashamed to have a woman go through it. So you must 
put up your papers and go away, for 1 am in a hurry, 
and have no time to argue with you, 

Mr. B. You can’t clean this room. I won’t have it 
done. 

Mrs. B. But it must be done, I say. 

Mr. B. You shall not do it, I say. 

Mrs. B. I will do it. JI won’t live like a pig. 

Mr. B. (Rising jrom his chair.) Madam, this room 
is my own private office, and is not to be whitewashed. 
You will please take up your things and go. I have 
important writing to do this morning. 


36 JOractical Dialogues, 


Mrs. B. Mr. Brown, this 7s to be whitewashed. You 
will please take up your papers and clear out. (Calls.) 
Bridget. (Bridget enters.) 

Mr. B. (To Bridget.) Bridget, take out these pails. 

Mrs. B. Bridget, leave them alone. 

Mr. B. Bridget, do as I tell you. 

Bridget. Indade, mum, how shall I obey you both? 

Mr. B. Obey me; I am master of the house. 

(Bridget takes up a pail.) 

Mrs. B. Bridget, set down that pail. (She puts it 
down.) 

Mr. B. Carry those things out. (She takes the pail.) 

Mrs. B. Set down that pail this instant. (She puis 
ut down.) 

Mr. B. Take it out, I tell you. (She takes hold of 
it.) 

Bridget. Indade, indade it’s taking up and setting 
down the pail I am the entire time. (Potnis.) ‘There 
shure, ma’am, is Miss Johnson coming up the walk. 

(Exit Mrs. B. and B.) 

Mr. B. Glory, hallelujah! (Sets pail outside, and 
kicks over the brushes, brooms, etc., getting entangled in 
the latier, tumbles down.) Now, Vl attend to busi- 
ness. (Stis down and writes. A knock 1s heard.) 

Mr. B. Come in. (Enter Smith dressed up as a 
soldier.) 

Smith. Good morning, Major Brown. Haven’t you 
heard the news? 

Mr. B. (Jumps up.) What is it? 

S. Why, the Governor is coming to town, and Com- 
pany A is turning out; the Captain sent me to tell 
you. Now rig up in double-quick time. 

Mr. B. (Rushes about.) Hand me my coat. (Puts 
on his hat.) Why, I wouldn’t miss being there for 
anything. Hand methe sword. (Looks in the glass.) 
All right; forward, march! (Exit.) 

(Enter Mrs. Brown cautiously.) 


otw the ouse was Cicanea, ay 


Mrs. B. Yes, he’s gone; tell me men don’t care 
about the looks of things! How he fixed himself up 
with rooster feathers (contemptuously) on his head. 
He’ll strut up and down in the mud , but now 
Pll clean the room. (Calls Bridget. Enter Bridget.) 
Now, then, for the whitewash. (They pitch books, 
hats, and boots into baskets and bundle them out). Men 
complain they can’t find their things after we have 
whitewashed, but (pitches more things into baskets), I 
don’t see any reason why. (They sweep, whitewash, 
cic.) 

Bridget. ‘There, mum, that’s as clean as a pin. 

Urs. B. Yes, that will do. Seems to me I hear the 
band playing. 

Bridget (Looking.) And shure, mum, the com- 
pany is marching by. Yes, and Mr. Brown is coming 
in with his sword in his hand. Och, mum, he'll 
murder us. (Rushes out followed by Mrs. B. Brown 
enters.) 

Mr. B. Hallo, the women have been here; and— 
and I must say it looks decidedly better. But where 
are the papers I left on the desk—where are the checks 
and receipts. (Goes to the coor and calls.) Mrs. 
Brown, where are the papers that were on my desk? 

(Mrs. Brown’s voice 1s heard in the distance saying: 
“They are all in the basket in the wood-house.”’ Exit 
Brown.) 


3 8 


Where two ways meet we ever stand, 

A fair, broad road on either hand; 

One leads to Wrong, and one to Right, 
One leads to day and one to night. 
Which will you choose, is asked each lad ? 
The right or left, the good or bad? 

Cne leads to Wrong, and one to Right, 
One leads to day and one to night. 


38 practical Dialogues, 


A Mixed Mess. 


Characters—GRACE WILSON, Mary JONES, WILL Gray, 
JOHN SMITH. 

[Grace Wilson 7s seated at her desk studying, with her hands over 
her ears. Will Gray is hearing John Smith recite his geography 
lesson. Mary Jones marching about, tossing a much-abused His- 
tory in the air and catching it again, and reciting very loudly to herselj.} 

Mary. “By the laws of England and Massachu- 
setts, witchcraft was punishable by death. In the 
early history of the colony one person charged with 
being a wizard—” 

Grace (taking down her hands hopelessly). O 
Mary, do be quiet and let me study my grammar. 
*“When a verb has two or more subjects—” 

Mary (teasingly). Study? Why, certainly, I will 
not prevent you from studying. You should, as the 
teacher says, be able to concentrate your attention. 

Wul. If witchcraft were not a lost art, we would 
try its powers on her, wouldn’t we, Grace? 

G. She seems bewitched already. 

John (in a@ stage whisper). Come, Will, hear me 
quickly, before that girl begins again. 

W. All right (reaches for geography.) ‘Of what 
empire is Asiatic Turkey a part?” 

J. “ Asiatic Turkey is a part of the—” 

M. (marching and tossing her book again.) “Special 
court appointed by Phipps to go to Salem and judge 
the persons accused by Paris.” 

J. Mary, you are very disagreeable. I wish you 
were in Asiatic Turkey. 

M. That would be nice. I would visit the Dead 
Sea and sit on the waves. 

W. Sit on the waves! I should like tc see you. 

M. ‘Take me to the Dead Sea, and you may have 
that pleasure. 


A Wired Wess, 39 


W. The pleasure of taking you? 

M. No, of seeing me sit on the waves. 

J. What nonsense you talk, Mary Jones! 

M. Iam not talking nonsense. Ask GraceifIam. | 

J. What do you say, Grace? (Grace does not hear 
as her hands cover her ears.) Grace! Grace! 

G. (starting.) What is it, John? 

J. How is the Dead Sea different from any other 
sea? 

G. It is very full of salt, I believe. I once heard of 
a man who sat on it and read a chapter in a book. 

W. Pshaw! I don’t believe that. It wouldn’t be 
called a sea if it were quite solid. 

G. (hurriedly, and turning to her book again.) Well, 
look in the encyclopedia if you choose. ‘‘When a verb 
has two or more subjects—”’ 

J. Don’t look now, Will. Hear my lesson. Recess 
is almost over. 

W. (reading.) ‘“‘Which of the provinces of Asiatic 
Turkey contains Palestine?” 

J. Syria. 

M. (very loud, still marching.) ‘In the early history 
of the colony one person was charged with being a wiz- 
ard—”’ 

J. O Mary, do please stop. 

M. Well, I will. I can’t learn it any way. (Bell 
rings.) 

All. That’s the first bell. (Mary runs into a corner. 
and begins to study and gesticulate.) 

J. Why, Mary seems bewitched now at any rate. 

W. (laughing.) I guess she would like to start for 
Asiatic Turkey, or some other distant locality. 

J. I’m afraid I won’t know my lesson because of 
her interference. ‘“‘Asiatic Turkey is a part—” 

G. I couldn’t study mine, either. ‘‘When a verb 
has two or more—”’ 

M. ‘‘By the laws of England—” (Bell rings.) 


40 Practical Dialogues. 


All. There’s the second SU. (All rise and leave 
the room, saying their parts.) 


Sw 


Counting a Hundred. 


CHARACTERS: Kate, Maggie, Harry, Sam and Roger. 


{Kate and Maggie seated sewing or reading; two or three un- 
eccupied chairs stand about the room. A noise and clatter heard 
outside. Roger rushes in counting 5, 6, 7, etc., and sits down in 
one of the chairs looking very heated and angry. Keeps on counting 
in loud and hurried tones.] 


Girls (Running io him.) What is the matter, 
Roger? 

Roger (Keeps on counting.) Nine, ten. 

Kate. Roger, boy, are you gone crazy? What zs 
the matter? 

R. Leave me alone; eleven, twelve. 

Maggie. Roger do stop a minute. What can be the 
matter with you? 

R. I say, stop your brother, won’t you, girls? thir- 
teen, fourteen. 

K. Why, yes, we’ll stop when you tell us what makes 
you act so oddly. (Roger keeps on counting. Enter 
Harry attracted by the noise.) 

Harry (jokingly). What’s up, Roge; what new 
trick is this? (Looks at him authoritatively.) Why 
he’s in a tearing rage. Come, Roger, now stop this 
fooling; you’re not going to tear the house to pieces 
in this style. Settle down and let’s know what it’s all 
about. 

K. Yes, Roger, that’s sensible. 

M. (Goes up to him.) So it is. 

(Roger shoves Maggie away and keeps on with the 
counting. Harry takes hold of his shoulder and gives 
him a shake.) Roger! 


Counting a undred, AI 


R. (Turns quickly and puts his head close up to 
Harry.) What! 

H. (Giving Roger a pretty hard shake.) What? 

(Enter Sam.) 

Sam. Hello, boys, what explosion is this? Here, 
let dogs delight to bark and bite, but you, friends, 
Romans, countrymen, what under the sky are you 
up to? 

R. One Hundred. I say, Sam Sawyer, I think 
that’s the meanest trick a fellow ever was up to. You 
can pride yourself on being humane and all that sort 
of stuff if you want to, but when I snare a couple of 
birds and gat them nicely fixed in a box with wire 
across the top, I want you and any other mean man 
round to understand that they’re mine and I wish to 
have them let alone. Do you understand? (Pauses 
jor breath.) 

S. (Looks bewildered.) 

R. Oh yes (sneeringly), its all very nice to play inno- 
cent, but I know who did it. I know who feels set 
up with being an S. P. C. A. agent, but I can tell you 
one thing that you needn’t practise any of your space 
on me. I won’t stand it, and besides the cat would 
have got those birds if I hadn’t; they were so young, 
and I intended to use them well, of course I did. 

K. and M. Oh Roger, is that the trouble? 

R. (Looking rather cheap.) Yes, it is. 

M. Well, why didn’t you come and say so without 
making all that noise about the counting. 

R. Because mother made me promise last week that 
when I got mad, I wouldn’t blow out till ’d count a 
hundred, and whatever I do, I don’t break a promise. 

K. Well, you needn’t have blown “out” at all if 
you had only asked for your birds, when you first 
found that they were gone, I could have told you 
where they were. Harry knows all about it. 

H. You see I got home from school early, and first 


42 practical Dialogues. 


thing went round to see the little orioles. But before I 
got to the box I heard a noise, and hurrying up just 
caught the black cat in the act of getting off a piece 
of the wire you put on to cover it. She had torn one 
part away a little, when it wasn’t very secure, and had 
one paw in. I grabbed her by the nape of the neck 
just in time to save the little things. I saw it was not 
safe for them there, so I put them in a basket and then 
found a cage up in the garret, and fixed the little fel- 
lows a place on the stand in your room. 

R. Why didn’t some one tell me? 

S. Never mind, old fellow, let’s all go up and see 
how the birds are getting along. (All go out.) 


SE 


The Broadway Drug Store. 


[This scene is from real life. The clerk should have a table, 
some books, bottles, a mortar, and be trying to put up medicine 
in a paper, etc. A dozen boys and girls will be needed. The dif- 
ferent characters should be well represented, ‘‘made up” as the 
stage expression is. Some are ladies finely dressed, some are busi- 
ness men, some are street venders. ‘They succeed each other rapidly.} 

Girl. (Rushing in.) Seven three-cent postage stamps, 
please. (Exit; young man enters.) 

Young Man. Can you change me a five-dollar bill? 

Clerk. I will see, sir. 

Y. M. Don’t give me any trade dollars, heavy things. 
Thanks. (Exit; girl enters.) 

G. A three-cent stamp, please. (Exit; man enters.) 

Man. Have you a City Directory? 

C. (Points.) Yes, there it is. 

M. Is it a this year’s Directory? 

C. No. 

M. Then it won’t have the name I want. (Exit; 
woman enters.) 

Woman. Can I leave these bundles here for an hour 
or two? 


The Wroadiway Drug Store. 43 


C. (Points.) Yes, put them there. (Exit; girl enter: .) 

G. Will you please fix this bundle for me. The 
string is loose. 

C. (Ties tt.) There it is. 

G. Thanks. (Exit; boy enters.) 

Boy. What time is it? 
. (Points to the clock.) 
. (Looks and goes out; girl enters.) 
. Where do these cars go to? 
. Up town and down town. 
Can I go to Brooklyn on them? 
. Yes, but you had better take the Bleecker cars. 
. Oh, way down the street. (Exit; man enters.) 

M. Five three-cent stamps and two twos. (Exit; 
boy enters.) 

B. I want to find Mr. Dobson. 

C. Don’t know him. (Exit boy; girl enters.) 

G. Can I wait here for a car? 

C. (Points to a chair; man enters.) 

M. Some stamps. (Exit; boy enters.) 

G. There’s the car. (Rushes out and leaves door 
open.) 

B. Three-cent stamp, please. (Sticks it on.) Will 
this letter go to-night? 

C. I guess so? 

B. Where shall I put it? 

C. (Poinis.) There’s the box. (Hvxit; enter boy 
- leading man, big card with ‘“‘help the blind” on his 
breast.) 

M. Please help the blind, please help the blind! 

C. Can’t to-day. (Exit man and boy; enter woman.) 

W. Do you know where Dr. Fleming has moved to? 

C. No, isn’t there a card up? 

W. Didn’t look to see. (Exit; enter boy.) 

B. Do you know a tall man that wears a cloak and— 

C. No. (Boy exit; enter man.) 

M. Will you let me take a pen a moment? 


AAAAAWOA 


44 practical Dialogues. 


C. (Points.) There is one. 

M. This is blue ink. Have you any black ink? 

C. (Points.) There is some. 

M. (Takes up botile.) This is Parvin’s ink. Never 
heard of that before. How is it? good? 

C. Pretty. good. 

M. (Writes.) Well, I guess that will do. Got a 
stamp? (C. offers a penny stamp.) No, a two-cert 
stamp. (Exit; leaving door open.) 

C. Here, come back and shut that door. 

G. (Rushes in.) Give me a postal card. (Exit; 
enter woman.) 

W. Is that clock on the steeple right ? 

C. Don’t know. 

W. Don’t know, I should think you would, being so 
close by. (Exit; enter man.) 

M. Where is the milk office that used to be along 
here ? 

C. Don’t know. 

M. Why, they did a big business; I want to find 
them; they owe me nearly four dollars and a half. 
(Exit; enter two women.) 

W. Where has the hair dresser moved to? 

C. Don’t know. 

Both. Don’t know! (Look astonished and go out; 
enter boy.) 

B. When does the boat go to Albany? 

C. Don’t know. Look in the “guide.” 

B. Got a guide? 

C. No. Get one at the hotel. (Exit boy; enter 
boy with brushes, etc.) 

B. Want any matches, brushes, or baskets? 

CL No.. (ist; boy.) 

M. Have you a watch key? My watch has run 
down. 

GiaVes. 

M. It won’t fit. (Evit.) 


Che Broadway Drug Store. A5 


B. Can you give me change for a five-dollar bill? 
(Gets it and goes out.) 

G. Got any pills? 

C. Yes, what kind? 

G. Oh! its Ramcor or Radman, or something like 
that. 

C. Better go and get the right name? (Evwit.) 

M. Got anything to take paint off clothes? 

C. Yes, have benzine. 

M. Got a sponge to put it on with? 

C. Yes, here is one. 

M. Thanks. (Ewit.) 

B. Do you keep fish hooks? 

C. No. (Exit boy.) 

W. Where is number 411? 

C. Three or four blocks higher up. (Exit woman.) 

G. Got postage stamps? 

C. Yes, how many? 

G. Well, three or four. 

C. What kind? 

G. What kind? Well two threes and two twos. 
How much will that package take? 

C. I can’t tell. Think you had better go to the 
Post-office with it. 

G. Which is the way to the Post-office? 

C. Take the cars out in front. (wit girl.) 

M. Say, do you know the photographer up on the 
next block? 

B. (rushing in) Will arsenic poison? 

C. Certainly. 

B. Then give me three cents worth and I will kill 
off the old cat with it. (Takes it and goes out.) 

M. Boys are rather hard on cats, ain’t they? 

C. Sometimes. 

M. I want to find out about that photographer. You 
see I sold him a sofa and he has not paid a cent for it 
yet. I want to know if he has any customers. Had 


46 Wractical Dialogues. 


your picture taken yet? You’d make a pretty picture, 
better come and have your picture taken. 

C. No, I guess not. (Exit; enter three girls.) 

T. G. (1) Give me, if your please, some licorice 
drops, (2) some eau-de-cologne, (3) some caramels. 
(Exeunt.) 

C. Well I guess it’s time for me to close up. I’ve 
helped the ignorant. I’ve sold stamps and arsenic 
and caramels and licorice, and eau-de-cologne, and 
my profits are probably seventy-five cents. Ladies 
and gentlemen, when you pity Job—remember he 
never had been a Broadway Drug Clerk. (Curtain 
jalls.) 


% EB 


A School Trial. 


[Adapted from J. G. Holland’s ‘“‘Arthur Bonnicastle,”’ who said: 
where the boys of Mr. Bird’s school were in the habit of judging 
any one of their number guilty of misdemeanor, Arthur, a small 
boy, was in the habit of telling strange and fabulous stories.] 


SCENE I. 


Scene: Arthur is walking along; two boys, with 
staffs in their hands taller than themselves meet him. 


First boy (solemnly)—Halt! Arthur Bonnicastle, 
you are arrested in the name of The High Society of 
Inquiry, and ordered to appear before that august tri- 
bunal to answer for your sins and misdemeanors. 
Right about face! (They march with him off the stage.) 


SCENE II. 

(A number of boys seated facing one side of the 
stage. The judge 1s seated on one side in a higher 
chair; all in speaking face the audience. The first two 
boys enter with Arthur, standing in front of the judge.) 

Second boy. We have secured the offender, your 
honor, and now have the satisfaction of presenting 
him before this honorable Society. 


A School Trial, 47 


Judge. The prisoner will stand and look at me. 
Arthur Bonnicastle, you are brought before The High 
Society of Inquiry on a charge of telling so many lies, 
that no dependence whatever can be placed upon your 
words. What have you to reply to this charge? ie 
you guilty, or not guilty? 

Arthur (indignanily). I am not guilty. Who says 
Tam? 

J. Henry Hulm, you will advance. 

(Henry takes position by the Judge.) 

J. Henry Hulm, you will look upon the prisoner, 
and tell the Society whether you know him. 

Henry. I know him well. He is my chum. 

J. What is his general character? 

H. He is bright and very amiable. 

J. Do you consider him a boy of truth and veracity? 

HT. I do not. 

J. Has he deceived you? If he has, please state 
the occasion and circumstances. 

HT. No, your honor, he has never deceived me. I 
always calculate when he speaks and make allowances. 

J. Have you ever told him of his crimes, and warned 
him to desist from them? 

HI. I have many times. 

J. Has he shown any disposition to amend? 

HT. None at all, your honor. 

J. What is the character of his falsehood ? 

H. He tells stunning stories about himself. Great 
things are always happening to him, and he is always 
performing the most wonderful deeds. 

(Arthur drops his head.) 

J. Will you give us some specimens of his stories? 

HT. I will, but I can do it best by asking him ques- 
hers 

J. (bowing pleasantly to Henry.) Very Ye Pur- 
sue the course you think best. 

H. Arthur, did you ever tell me that aha you and 


48 ractical Draloqurs. 


your father were on the way to this school, your horse 
went so fast that he ran down a black fox in the middle 
of the road and cut off his tail with the wheel of your 
chaise, and that you sent that tail home to one of your 
sisters to wear in her winter hat? 

A. Yes, I did. 

J. (In a low, grum voice.) And did your said horse 
really run down said fox in the middle of said road, 
and cut off said tail; and did you send home said tail 
to said sister, to be worn in said hat? ‘The prisoner 
will answer so that all can hear. 

A. (Slowly.) No, but—I—did see a black fox, a real 
black fox, as plain as day. 

All the Boys. (Speaking together in a taunting tone, 
looking from one to another.) Oh, oh, oh! He did see 
a black fox, a real black fox as plain as day! 

J. The witness will pursue his inquiries. 

HT, Arthur, did you or did you not tell me that when 
on the way to this school you overtook Mr. and Mrs. 
Bird in their wagon, that you were invited into the 
wagon by Mrs. Bird, and that one of Mr. Bird’s horses 
chased a calf on the road, caught it by the ear and 
tossed it over the fence and broke its leg? 

A. (Desperately.) I s’pose I did. 

J. And did said horse really chase said calf, and 
catch him by said ear, and toss him over said fence, 
and break said leg? 

A. He didn’t catch him by the ear, but he really did 
chase a calf! 

All the Boys. (Together.) Oh, oh, oh! He didn’t 
catch him by the ear, but he really did chase a calf! 

J. Witness, you will pursue your inquiries. 

HT. Arthur, did you or did you not tell me that you 
have an old friend who is soon to go to sea, and that he 
has promised to bring you a male and female monkey, 
a male and a female bird of paradise, a barrel of pine- 
apples, and a Shetland pony? 


A School Trial, 49 


A. It doesn’t seem as if I told you exactly that. 

J. (Severely.) Did you or did you not tell him so? 

A. Perhaps I did. 

J. And did said friend, who is soon to go to said sea, 
really promise to bring you said monkeys, said birds 
of paradise, said pineapples and said pony? 

A. No, but I really have an old friend who is going 
to sea, and he’ll bring me anything I ask him to. 

All the Boys. (Together.) Oh, oh, oh! He really 
has an old friend who is going to sea, and he’ll bring 
him anything he asks him to! 

(The teacher enters. The boys all jump jrom their 
seats. The qudge in his haste tips over his high chair.) 

Teacher. What does this mean? 

J. We have been trying, sir, to break Arthur Bonni- 
castle of lying. 

(The teacher takes Arthur’s hand, who hides his face 
on his sleeve.) 

T. What is the charge? 

J. Blowing, sir. 

T. Is he guilty? 

All. He is, sir. 

I. What is the sentence? 

J. That he be proclaimed North, East, South, and 
West as a Big Blower. 

T. Execute the sentence. 

(They march out.) 

The voice of the judge is heard saying: “‘Hear ye, 
hear ye, hear ye, hear ye, Arthur Bonnicastle is con- 
victed of blowing; all are notified to deduct largely 
from all his representations. The High Court of 
Inquiry is now adjourned. (Cheers.) 


50 practical Dialogues. 


The Ambitious Editor. 


CHARACTERS: Hopkins (an aspiring young journalist), 
and Mr. Hayseed (a back-country farmer). 


Hopkins. (In editorial sanctum.) At last I have the 
situation I have hoped and prayed for. Mr. Stoopover 
has left for a two weeks’ vacation and I am installed as 
editor for the time being! Now, The Farmers’ Friend 
and Cultivators’ Champion may consider itself to have 
entered upon a new era. I can feel that, with my 
journalistic experience, it will be just fun to run an 
agricultural paper. (Knocks are heard at the door.) 
Come in! 

(Mr. Hayseed enters.) 

Hop. Good morning, sir. 

Hayseed. Mornin’. (Looking around, staring and 
pausing.) I ’spected to meet the proprietor, as I’d 
appointed to discuss ensilage with ’im. 

Hop. (Offering chair.) Well, the proprietor has gone 
into the country for a few weeks. (Very politely.) I 
am in charge of the journal. 

Hay. O, you are? Well, you seem to have a pretty 
clean office here. 

Hop. Yes. But about this ensilage. Ensilage is a 
pretty good breed, isn’t it? 

Hay. Breed! Why man alive! 

Hop. I mean it’s a sure crop; something that you 
can rely on. 

Hay. Crop! 

Hop. Yes, yes—h’m—I know it isn’t exactly a crop. 

Hay. Well, I declare. 

Hop. But you can do better and cleaner work with 
a good sharp ensilage than with the common— 

Hay. Take it for a sulky plow, do you? 


Che Ambitious Coitor. 51 


Hop. No, no. You don’t seem to understand me. 
Now, if a farmer builds an ensilage on low ground— 

Hay. Builds an ensilage! You seem to have got 
the thing mixed up with some kind of a granary. 

Hop. Pshaw, no! I must make myself plainer. 
You see, this ensilage properly mixed with one part 
guana and three parts of hypophosphate of antimony, 
with the addition of a little bran and tan-bark, and! 
the whole flavored with chloride of lime, makes a top- 
dressing for strawberry beds which— 

Hay. Why, ensilage isn’t no manure! 

Hop. No, certainly not. I know it is not often 
used in that way. You don’t catch my drift. When I 
said top-dressing I meant turkey dressing—stuffing, 
you know—for Thanksgiving. 

Hay. Great guns, man! Ensilage isn’t a human 
food! 

Hop. No, not a human food exactly. (Grinning.) 
It isn’t a food at all, in the true sense of the word. 
My plan has always been to lasso the hog with a trace 
chain, and after pinning his ears back with a clothes- 
pin, put the ensilage into his nose with a pair of tweezers. 

Hay. My good lands! You don’t use ensilage to 
ring hogs! 

Hop. I never believed that it should be used for 
that purpose, but when you want to ring hens, or 
young calves to keep them from sucking— 

Hay. (Rising slowly and with evidences of rheuma- 
tism.) Young man (solemnly), you are a long ways 
from home, ain’t you? 

Hop. Yes. (Dropping his eyes beneath the stern 
glance of the jarmer.) In my ancestral halls in Eng- 
land, sad-eyed retainers wearily watch and wait for 
my return. 

Hay. Go home, young man, go home to your feudal 
castle, and while on your way across the rolling deep, 
muse on the fact that ensilage is simply canned food 


52 practical Dialogues. “ 


for live stock—put up expressly for family use in a silo, 
which is nothing less than an air-tight pit where corn- 
stalks, grass, millet, clover, alfalfa and other green 
truck is preserved for winter use, as green and verdant 
as (pause) the sub-editor of the Farmers’ Friend and 
Cultivators’ Champion. 

Hop. Probably. But see here now. You 4oa’t 
mind a glass of root beer, do you? 

fay. Can’t say as I do. 

Hop. Come on then; I know good root bee i¢ J 
don’t know ensilage. (Exeunt.) 


8 # 


Two Ways of Looking at It. 

By LEOLINE WATERMAN. ee 
CHARACTERS—Maud Ingles, Bertha Williams, and 
Mrs. Williams. 


Maud. Oh, Bertha, aren’t you sorry school begins 
next Monday? 

Bertha. Sorry! Why, no, I don’t think I am. 

M. Not sorry! How funny! I am awfully cross 
about it. Haven’t you enjoyed vacation? 

B. Yes, indeed, I have, but then, Maud, you know 
“all play and no work makes Jack a dull boy.” 

M. Bother! Don’t repeat that to me. Grandma 
is always throwing it in my face. I, for one, would be 
quite willing to run the risk of being dull if I could only 
have another month or two of vacation. 

B. What would you do? 

M. Do? Oh, ever so many things. I’d lie in the 
hammock most of the time and read story books. 

B. I don’t believe you would enjoy yourself. 

M. Wouldn’t [? I guess I would! (emphatically). 

B. No you wouldn’t, because you would be doing 
wrong. 


Tivo Ways of Looking at Fe. 53 


M. It isn’t wrong to read stories. 

B. It is if you have something better to do, and every 
one ought to improve his mind. Did you ever think, 
Maud, what a wonderful thing your brain is? 

M. No, I never did, but (thoughtjully) it 4s strange 
how we can learn and remember things. I wish I 
knew how it was done. Wouldn’t it be fun if we 
could look right into each other’s heads and see what 
was going on inside? 

B. Those are some of the things we will learn at 
school. In physiology we will learn all about the size 
and shape of the brain, and the different parts into 
which it is divided; and when we study mental phi- 
losophy we will find howit is that we are able to learn 
and remember, etc. O Maud, I am glad to go to 
school; there are so many things I want to learn. 

M. There is plenty of time. We are only little girls 
now. 

B. O Lizzie how can you say so! It is not likely 
that either you or I will live to be more than fifty or 
sixty years old, and if we study ever so bard, we cannot 
graduate from school much before we are twenty. Just 
think, that would be one third of our whole lives spent 
in just getting ready! Even then we would only make 
a little beginning. If we studied all our lives there 
would still be ever and ever so many things that we 
would not know. 

M. If that is true what is the use of trying at all? 

B. The use of it? Why, Maud! I can’t begin to tell 
you all the use it will be. 

M. Well, tell me the use of geology if you can. My 
cousin Dick has been studying geology, and he has got 
a great cabinet full of stones, and knows all their names. 
Now what good will it ever do him? 

B. Perhaps it may make his fortune some day. 

M. How? 

B. J will tell you about a man that napa knew once. 


54 Practical Dialogues. 


He was a very poor man, but he had a good education, 
and one day when he was walking through a field he 
noticed a particular kind of rock lying around. He 
had studied geology and knew that that kind of rock 
was often found near coal mines. So he examined the 
place very carefully, and collected pieces of the stone. 
Very soon he made up his mind that there must be coal 
under ground. He went and told the owner of the land, 
and together they dug down; and, sure enough, they 
found the coal. In a few years the man became very 
rich, but he never would have found the coal mine if he 
had not studied geology. 

M. What a nice story! I should like to study such 
things, but I do get so tired of learning old geography, 
and arithmetic, and spelling. 

(Mrs. Williams enters unnoticed.) 

Mrs. W. What are you little girls talking about so 
earnestly ? 

B. Oh, mamma, I am so glad to see you. Please 
tell Maud why we have to study spelling and geography, 
and arithmetic, before we can learn such things as 
physiology and geology. 

Mrs. W. (Smiling.) I am afraid neither of you would 
enjoy those studies any better now than you do the com- 
moner ones your teacher gives you. 

M. But why, Mrs. Williams? 

Mrs. W. Let me think a minute and see if I can make 
it clear to you. Do you remember, Maud, the day that 
you and Bertha and I climbed to the top of Mount 
Lofty ? 

M. Yes, ma’am, indeed I do! How tired we were 
before we go* to the top! 

B. Yes,” | what a beautiful view we had when we 
did get there! 

Mrs. W. Well, that is very much the way it is with 
studying. At the bottom of the mountain it was very 
hot and dusty. The road was steep, and we were al- 


Two Ways of Looking at Fe. 55 


most tempted to turn back. As we climbed higher, 
however, we began to see a little of the view here and 
there, and when we reached the summit we forgot all 
the long, hard way we had come. Just so it is in 
Studying. At first it is hard work, and we are almost 
ready to give up trying, but by and by it won’t be so. 
Keep on, girls, and don’t be discouraged. It is the only 
way that you can become cultivated, intelligent women. 

M. That makes it look different. (Holding out her 
hand.) But see, it’s — o’clock and I was to be at Mrs. 
Runyon’s, so I must go. I guess I shall be glad 
school begins. Good bye. 

(Mrs. W. and Bertha follow her to the door and 
“Good bye,” eic., is heard.) 


G Bw 


A Day’s Absence from School.’ 


By ANNIE H. STREATER. 


CHARACTERS: Rose Ellerby, Hattie Brown, Nellie Fer- 
ris. Rose and Hattie busy at embroidery; stand con- 
taining crewels and silk. 


Hattie. I wonder where Nellie Ferris is. She is 
always so early. I can’t imagine where she was yester- 
day. I’m sure that she will be sorry that she staid 
away from school. 

Rose. 1 saw her out driving last evening, so that the’ 
was not ill. 

(Nellie enters, hat on, books in hand.) 

Good afternoon, Nellie. Hattie and I were just 
talking about you. How did you get in? I didn’t 
hear the door-bell. 

Nellie. Bridget did, though, and she told me that I 
would find you upstairs in your room, and here you both 
are. How perfectly lovely your embroidery is, Hattie! 
(Looks ai her work.) 


56 Jpractical dialogues. 


Rose. Where’s your work, Nellie? Let me take 
your hat, and we’ll have such a nice cozy time together. 
Hattie is going to stay to supper, and we’re going to 
coax you to stay, too. 

Nellie. I can only stay just a little while, Rose. I 
came over to find out about Monday’s lessons. Laura 
Miller brought me the list last evening, and I have been 
trying to get my arithmetic lesson, but I don’t under. 
stand it at al:. 

Rose. That’s because you were absent. We under: 
stand the new rule perfectly, don’t we, Hattie? 

lative. Yes, indeed; we worked so many test ex- 
amples in the class, and Miss Brooks made the lesson 
so practical. She put all of the class into one of her 
test examples, represented us each as being worth so 
many thousands of dollars, and then we found out what 
our tax would be if a new school-house were erected. 
It was such fun. Why even Frank Long was quite 
interested. Let me look at your problem, Nellie. 

(Nellie hands her paper to Hatize.) 

Hlatiie. Here is your mistake, Nellie. The tax to be 
raised is always the dividend. Don’t yousee? (Shows 
Nellie the error.) You have used the taxable property © 
for the dividend. 

Nellie. Why, how stupid of me. That’s easy 
enough now to see. You’re quite a teacher, Hattie. 
Perhaps I didn’t lose so very much after all by being 
absent yesterday. 

Rose. But, Nellie, arithmetic isn’t our only study. 
We had a splendid drill in parsing, and finished those 
difficult sentences in false syntax. In geography we 
had time to locate twenty-five new places on our maps, 
and we had such a nice talk about the Chinese Empire. 

Neilte. Well, I shall have to study up this evening. 
Don’t tell of anything else that I have lost by my ab- 
sence. 

Rose. But, Nellie, I can’t help telling you what our 


@ Day’s Absence from School, 57 


composition subject is. It is ‘‘Hiawatha’s Child- 
hood.” 

Nellie. Oh! I can find out all about that. We have 
Longfellow’s poems at home. I never found anything 
very interesting about Hiawatha, though. There are 
so many horrid old Indian names in the poem. I 
should think that Miss Brooks could find a better com- 
position subject than that. 

Hattie. Why, Nellie, the story is very beautiful. 
The Indian names sounded so pretty, too, when Miss 
Brooks read them. I never half understood the story 
before. | 

Nellie. Well, Vil call on our teacher on my way 
home and get her to read it forme. I’m sure that she 
will be quite willing to. 

Rose. No, Nellie, but you can’t do that; for Miss 
Brooks left town last evening after school, and will not 
return until Monday morning. 

Nellie. Oh dear! how provoking! I had no idea 
that one could lose so much by being away from school 
just one day. I’m going before you have a chance to 
remind me of anything else. I shall have to study 
every minute this evening. I would much rather stay 
with you both. 

Rose. You haven’t told us yet, Nellie, why you were 
absent. 

Nellie. Oh! I wanted to go to the fair, and I coaxed 
mother to let me stay home from school. I told her 
that one day wouldn’t make much difference. I’m 
sorry now; I really must gonow. (They all rise and 
go with her to the door.) Good-bye. 

Hattie. ) Good-bye, Nellie. (Talking is heard). 

Rose. We'll see you on Monday. Good-bye. 
(They go out.) 


58 practical Dialogues. 


The Confucius Club. 


CHARACTERS: Mr. Winkle, Tupman, Snodgrass. 
[Three pupils come on the stage and take easy positions.] 


Winkle. The newspapers have a great deal to say 
about education; suppose we talk about that; most 
any one can talk on education and religion. 

Snodgrass. That is the cause of the trouble that 
exists. There isn’t a tramp that plods along the rail- 
road and begs cold victuals from door to door but can 
tell us how to improve the schools, the tariff and the ser- 
mons. I suppose every country village contains several 
wise men that can talk learnedly about education. 

Winkle. Anyhow there are a good many people 
who say that their children study too hard and ought 
to play more, that there should be flowers and pictures 
in the school-room. But General Washington had no 
chromos to look at when he went to school, and beat him 
if youcan. They say there should be no lickin’ of bad 
boys and girls any more. I would have been in favor 
of that when I went to school, but now I have a tough 
boy I cannot manage, I am agin it. Besides, there is 
Bill Jones’ boy; he made a face at me the other day; I 
want him whipped by the master. I am for lower 
wages to teachers, too; they travel around during vaca- 
tion, and that shows they have too much money. Then 
again, education is too extensive in my opinion; they 
study too many of the ologies: they should be more 
practical— 

Mr. Tupman. I rise to a point of order. When I 
passed the school building in Mr. Winkle’s district I 
saw a painful sight. The house stood on a deserted 
hill, a little house that should not be seen was in front 
without a screen of any kind, and there was no separate 
apartment for the gentler sex. ‘There were no fences, 


Che Confucius Club. 59 


uo paint, no curtains, glass was out of the windows. 
Education is not too extensive in that district. (Ap- 
plause.) 

Mr. Winkle. I was about to say that education 
should be more practical. JI have been interrupted by 
(here he glared at Mr. Tupman), an unprincipled (order, 
order) innovator. In that school-building many emi- 
nent men, including myself have been educated. Who 
was more eminent than Warren D. Hanlin? There 
he learned to read and spell, and he is now in Congress 
and worth $50,000 and that is more than the last speak- 
er will collect in his lifetime. That school-house that is 
good enough for W. D. Hanlin is good enough for me. 

Mr. Snodgrass. Education is quite another thing 
from the spelling book and the arithmetic. There are 
men who went to school with Judge Hanlin, and who 
are to spend their lives on their farms; to such men a 
good education is more necessary than to him. But 
the schools don’t do much for the quiet ones; they need 
education the most. We don’t get the best sort of 
teachers in my district. Last winter they had the min- 
ister’s son from Poduck; he is fitting for college. Now, 
how would you like for a minister one who was prepar- 
ing to be a stock-ranger in Texas, or for a doctor a man 
who spent his time in learning how to make pictures for 
the funny papers? I tell you we are doing it too cheap; 
we allow too cheap men and women to try their hands at 
hearing spelling lessons, and then we call it education. 

Tupman. ‘The people have become accustomed to 
having the educational work done poorly and cheaply; 
in my district they hired a man in the school who made 
his living by fattening hogs; he was a smart sort of 
fellow and they thought he could keep school. My 
father realized the degrading influences there and sent 
me to Somerville Academy; that was my salvation. 

Snodgrass. I think all will agree that we ought to 
have the very best men as teachers even if it costs more 


60 practical Dialogues, 


money. But, gentlemen, the club must adjourn; it is 
time for dinner. (All pull out waiches.) 
All. So itis; adjourn at once. (Hxeunt.) 


2 ¥E 


The Modern Way. 


CHaraetTersS: Old Rush, Young Rush, Landlord, 
Waiter, Tailor, John, Jonathan Culture. 


SCENE I. 


Young Rush. So the will has been read and we are 
the lucky—what it is the lawyers called us? 

Old Rush. Legatees. 

Y.R. Yes, that’s it, legatees. Now, let us contrive 
to spend the money as soon as we can—let us push 
on lively. 

O. R. Well, yes, I suppose we will have to do it in 
the regular style; ‘‘blow it in,” that’s the expression, 
isn’t it? All right; go ahead. What shall we do? 

Y.R. Why, do the country—New York, Philadel- 
phia, Boston, Niagara Falls, Chicago; a week will be 
enough; then to Europe. Come, let us be off—express 
train, 70 miles an hour—wish it went faster. (Exeunt 
hastily.) 

(Enter Landlord.) 

Landlord. Well, this is a queer pair; they have only 
just got into the house, and they want tc go all over the 
town, eat dinner, buy their clothes, and sleep, all at 
the same time. Any way, they will be quiet until 
dinner, because they must be hungry. 

Y.R. (Without.) Landlord, I say landlord. (Enter 
O. R. and Y. R.) 

L. Well, what is it I can do for you; pray be seated. 

O. R. Your bill of fare—let us see it, we must be 
moving. (Keads.) ‘Turbots — salmon — soles — had- 


Che Modern Pay. 61 


dock—beef—mutton—veal — lamb—pork—chickens— 
ducks—puddings—pies—figs—raisins—oranges — send 
them all in; that is the shortest way; and be sure to 
hurry them up. 

LT. All! what all? 

Y. R. Yes, every bit! Come, father, let us push on; 
we shall be back in ten minutes; let us find a tailor. 
(Exeunt O. R. and Y. R.) 

L. Ten minutes to get all of those things ready! 
What a crazy couple! But they have the money. 
(Exit.) 

(Enter Tailor.) 

Tailor. I have just had an order to make some 
clothes—two suits—didn’t give their names—must be 
ready right off—Oh, yes, they threw in their cards as 
they drove off. Samuel Rush and Jacob Rush, Astor 
House. Will be back in a few minutes. I will get 
my measure and cloth ready. Oh, here they come; 
they are regular rushers. 

(Enter O. R. and Y. R.) 

O. R. Well, hurry up! How about those suits, 
tailor? Are they ready ? 

T. Oh, your honor, you know you were not meas- 
ured ? 

Y. R. Hang it, why it will take ten minutes or more 
to do that. Push on, be lively. 

T. Will you have the London style or the New 
York cut. 

O.R. No prosing, to the point at once. Give us 
something we can get about in; no time to talk about 
styles and fits; leave that to the women. 

T. Very well; Vill just measure you quickly as 
possible. (Measures O. R. Meanwhile Y. R. walks 
up and down.) Now, then, (to Y. R.) Pll take your 
measure. 

Y.R. Cannot wait; make the suit—my suit—a 
little smaller than his (poiniing), and it will do; and 


62 practical Dialogues. 


be sure to hurry it up, or it won’t suit us at all. Ha) 
ha! (Exeunt.) 

IT. A queer pair of fellows, but never mind they will 
have to pay me for hurrying. Here, John. (Enier 
John.) Cut out two suits of clothes trom the black 
broad-cloth, and make them in a hurry. 

John. There is but one measure here, sir. 

IT. Yes, that is for Old Rusher, and then the Young 
Rusher will take a suit a little smaller. Ha! ha! 
They don’t want a tight fit; they want them so they 
can get in and out of them ina hurry. (Hxewunt.) 

(Enter Landlord.) 

L. They will be out soon from the dinner-table— 
they skipped the soup—it was too hot; they would 
hot wait for it to cool, and they went into the meat as 
lf the express train was waiting. Here they come. 

(Enter O. R. and Y. R.) 

O. R. What time do the cars leave? 

Y.R. Is it the lightning express ? 

L. Don’t be in a hurry, gentlemen; there is plenty 
of time. The cars don’t leave for twelve hours 
yet. 

Y.R. Merciful heavens! No dashing over the coun- 
try for a whole half day! (Both groan.) 

L. Let me introduce a gentleman of culture to you 
to beguile the time; he is coming this way. (Enter 
Mr. Jonathan Culture.) Mr. Culture, this is Mr. 
Jacob Rush and this Mr. Samuel Rush. (They bow 
to each other. Exit Landlord.) 

O. R. Dreadfully slow place; got to wait here for 
half a day for a train. 

Y. R. Nothing like pushing ahead. 

Culture. But in going so fast you fail to see the 
beauties of the country; there are splendid scenes in 
the vicinity of this town, for example. 

Y.R. Where are they? Is there a fast horse to be 
got, if so, let us go and see them. 


Che Modern Way. 63 


O. R. Just a word, sir; where are they? North, 
east, south, or west? 

C. Lake Pontiac and Montoosuc Valley lie— 

O. R. That’s enough, Pontiac; waiter, waiter. 

(Enter W atter.) 

Hurry up, waiter, and get us a chaise and two horses, 
and mark you, the fastest horses in the stable. 

Waiter. There is a pair of horses ready, sir. 

Y.R. Come, dad, jump in? (Exeunt.) 

C. What a hurry! in such a haste that he says dad 
instead of father. (Exi?i.) 


ScENE II. 


(Enter O. R. and Y. R.) 

O. R. Asplendid drive! Why, those horses made 20 
miles an hour! 

Y.R. Now then, let us jam everything into our 
trunks, get on the fast train and buzz along. Come, 
waiter, hurry up. 

(Waiter enters with a box.) 

O. R. Keep moving (puts in something). 

Y.R. Push on (puis in something). 

O. R. Hurry up (slams down cover.) 

Y.R. Come on, express train, 60 miles an hour. 
Hurry up. 

O. R. Push on. (Exeunt O. R. and Y. R.) 

(Enter Landlord.) 

W. (With money in his hand.) They are anxious to 
get rid of their money; left me adollar! (Shows it.) 

L. Well, when they come this way again they won’t 
have so much. ‘A fool and his money are soon 
parted,” is as true now as in Solomon’s time. (Bow 
and exeunt.) 


64 practical Dialogues, 


A Troubled Witness. 


CHARACTERS: Judge, Henry Napoleon Johnson (the 
witness), Clerk of the Court, Attorney, several spectators. 


[The spectators (pupils) come in loungingly first and take seats; 
hats are on; then the clerk, the attorneys (two) and the witness. 
The Judge appears and pauses; the clerk calls out ‘‘His~Honor, 
Judge , order in the court,” all take off their kats and rise; the 
Judge takes his seat and all sit. The witness can have a piece of 
crape over his face.] 


Judge. Let the next witness be called. 

Clerk. Henry Napoleon Johnson! Henry Napoleon 
Johnson! 

Witness. (Comiug forward.) Heah! 

J. Are you Henry Napoleon Johnson? 

W. Dat’s my Christian name, boss; folks most 
gen’ly calls me Hen. 

J. Swear him. 

C. Hold up your hand. 

W. Jes as you say. (Puts up left hand.) 

C. The right hand. 

W. What, bofe hands? Jes as you say. 

C. No, your right hand only. Don’t you know 
which is your right hand? 

J. Never mind. Administer the oath. 

C. (In the usual indistinct and hurried manner.) 
You—solemnly—swear—that—you— will—tell—_the— 
truth,—the—whole—truth—and—nothing—but—the 
—truth—m—m—m—m—m. (Witness stares im st- 
lence.) Can’t you speak ? 

W. Yes, sah; but I can’t gabble dat way. 

C. Do you swear? 

W. Sometimes when I’s mad. 

J. The clerk will please repeat the oath slowly and 
intelligibly. 

C. Henry Napoleon Johnson, do you solemnly 


A Troubled Witness, 65 


swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, 
and nothing but the truth in respect to the case now 
on trial between Nixon and Collins? 

W. Yes, sah; of course, sah; that’s what I come for. 

J. Let the examination proceed. 

Attorney. Mr. Johnson, please state what you know 
concerning the attack on Caleb Collins. 

W. I don’t know noffin about no attack. 

A. Well, the shooting then? 

W. Golly, you’s barkin’ up de wrong tree. I don’t 
see no shootin’, I was gwine ’long Chatham street one 
day, and I see two gentlemen in a sort of a squabble, 
you understand. One, he was driving along in a 
wagon, and the other he was riding along on a hoss. 

J. On what? 

W. On a hoss, a four-legged hoss, just such as you 
see every day. And he told him to get out of the way. 

A. Who told whom to get out of the way? 

W. Yes, that’s what I say. This man told this man 
on the hoss to git out of the way; and this man on the 
hoss he turns round and struck this man in the wagon 
two times or three times; I didn’t count them. 

A. Where do you live, Johnson ? 

W. In a garret. 

A. What is your business? 

W. My wife follows the washin’ business, but she 
makes me do the work. 

A. Where was the wagon when you saw it? 

W. In the street. 

A. What part of the street ? 

W. Why, the part where I was. 

A. On which side of the street ? 

W. On the same side that I was. 

A. How near was the wagon to the sidewalk? 

W. Well, boss you’s got me there. 

A. Are you deaf? 

W. Sometimes. 


66 \Sractical Dialogues. 


A. When you first saw the man on horseback, where 
was he? 

W. On his horse’s back. 

A. Where was the wagon? 

W. Well, boss, I guess it was somewhere near by. 

A. With what did he strike the prisoner? 

W. He struck him with his hand; it was de right or 
de left; I disremember which. 

A. Were they near Barnum’s clothing store? 

W. Well, see here now, boss, I ain’t able to read nor 
write, and I can’t tell Barnum from Stewart, or any 
of them big folks, by looking up their names. 

A. Did you know Collins ? 

W. No, sah; I never see any Collins. 

A. Do you know Nixon? 

W. I don’t know any of them folks; I don’t go into 
society. 

A. Who was the man in the wagon? 

W. That was Dick Shurtleff what sells clams; he 
had a bushel of clams— 

J. It seems that this witness doesn’t know of the 
attack on Caleb Collins. 

W. That’s just what I told them, boss, but they 
said I must come to court. 

J. The witness may retire. 

W. Thank you, judge; good day, gen’l’men. 

J. The court will now adjourn (Kzses.) 

Clerk. The Court is adjourned. (Exeunt.) 

—Adapted from Venables’ “‘ School Siage.” | 


Bw 


Speak the truth! 

Speak it boldly, never fear, 
Speak it so that all may hear, 
In the end it shall appear 
Truth is best in age and youth, 
Speak the truth. 


Showing Off. 67 


Showing Off. 


CHARACTERS: Maud Grandall (a recent graduate of a 
seminary), Hester Loring (her intimate friend), Susy (the 
servant girl.) 


Susy. Well, I do be kept busy, now Miss Maud’s. 
home from the grand school where she got such a pile! 
of learning. Why, the parson himself can’t beat her 
on the big words! And she’s always a-going off with 
clumpy boots and a big shade hat, a-digging for worms, 
and a-scooping fishes out of the creek, and catching 
bugs and butterflies in little nets; and when she is at 
home dresses to kill! (Dusts the aquarium.) Here’s 
her aquarium all full of stones and shells and little 
bits of fishes. How they wriggle! Poor things! I 
think it’s a shame to take them out of the cool, shady 
creek, and keep them in glass cases. 

(Enter Maud, very elaborately dressed.) 

Maud. Susan! 

Susy. Yes, Miss Maud. 

M. Does my skirt hang gracefully? 

S. Beautifully, miss. 

M. Is the flounce on my overskirt looped in the 
proper manner? 

S. It couldn’t be better. 

M. (Walking slowly across the stage.) Does my train 

*follow my movement in a delicate curve? 

S. (Looking bewildered.) I—think—it—does. 

N. Think! Can’t you see? 

S. Yes, miss; it is splendid. 

M. How does the dress fit me? 

S. Magnificent, miss. 

M. Does it not wrinkle on the shoulder? 

S. Not a wrinkle as big as a hair anywhere about it, 
miss! And all the crinkle-cranklcums on it is lovely. 
I never saw such sweet silk! 


68 practical Dialoques, 


M. Is my collar straight? 

S. Couldn’t be straighter. 

M. One might as well be buried at once, as to live in 
a house without a full-length mirror. I am quite re- 
solved not to let papa have one moment’s peace until 
he putsoneinmyroom. I feel half dressed, if I cannot 
see the sweep of my skirts or the fall of my cloak. 

S. Well, you’re elegant to-day, miss. Do you expect 
visitors, miss. | 

M. Miss Hester Loring is coming to see me. Is my 
hair all right at the back? 

S. Lovely, miss. 

M. (Sitting down.) Bring me a footstool. 

S. Yes, miss. (Brings footstool.) 

M. Hand mea book from the table. 

S. Which one, miss ? 

M. Anyone. (Susy hands book.) You may go now 
Susy. When Miss Hester comes, show her in here. 

S. Yes, miss. (Exit Susy.) 

M. I wonder if my skirt is draped gracefully over the 
footstool, so as to show the rosette upon my new slip- 
pers! (Bell rings.) ‘That must be Hester. (Appears 
absorbed in reading.) 

(Enter Hester.) 

Hester. Oh, dear Maud. (Stops confused, as Maud 
does not seem to see her.) Good morning! 

M. (Looking up.) Oh, pardon me! I was so inter- 
ested in this new book upon botany, I did not hear you 
enter. (Rising gracefully.) Iam delighted to see you. 

H. I—why, Maud, you don’t seem to be a bit de- 
lighted. 

M. Dear Hester, what do you think of my new dress ? 
Is it unfashionable? My mind is so absorbed in the 
pursuit of knowledge, that I care nothing for such frivol- 
ities as fashion demands of her votaries. 

H. Oh, it is quite fashionable. 

M. A fancy of my dressmaker’s. She knows I care 


Hhowing Off, 09 


nothing for such things, and exercises her own descre- 
tion. Let me take your hat and shawl. You have 
come to spend the day. ? 

H. I did intend to do so, but perhaps you have re- 
nounced friendship. 

M. (Clapping her hands.) I renounce friendship? 
How little you know me! 


“Friendship above all ties doth bind the heart; 
And faith in friendship is the noblest part!” 


I could not live without friendship! (As if much 
affected.) 

H. I did not mean to wound you. 

M. (Removing Hester’s hai and shawl.) You must 
stay allday. I have a thousand things to show you. 

H. Thanks! I suppose you brought a great many 
new things from the city! Oh, you have an aquarium? 
(Goes to the aquarium.) 

M. Yes, a trifle to amuse leisure hours, when my 
brain wearies of study. ‘That is a very fine specimen 
of the Dyticus Marginalis. You recognize it, of course. 

H. It is difficult to tell one of the water beetles from 
another, they dart about so quickly. But I see you 
have a Hydrophilus piceous! 

M. Oh,I am so glad, dear Hester, that you share my 
enthusiasm for this fascinating pursuit. I spent the 
entire day yesterday at the creek. I obtained a 
Helophorus aquaticus and an Acitius sulcatus, but 
looked in vain for a Colymbetes. 

H. I think, my beloved Maud, that we have ever been 
in sympathy in our pursuits. Pardon me, therefore, 
if I presume to criticise your aquarium. I find therein 
a deficiency of Algw, most necessary for the health of 
your aquatic pets. We can easily produce a supply, 
however. Let me recommend, my charming friend, 
some of the Cladophora Arcta, a little of the Entero- 
morpha, which is, however, so common, that I would 


70 Practical Dialogues. 


use it sparingly, a few specimens of the Porphyra lacin- 
tata, or Ulva latissima, whichever you prefer. Both 
are effective. 

M. You are very kind, dear, to make any sugges- 
tion. ‘This anemone is very rare; did you notice it? 

H. I did. You must come over and see my collec- 
tion. 

M. Have you a Gontodoris nodosa? 

fT. 'Two, my love, and a perfect Gemellaria loricata, 
My Scrupocellaria scruposa has been very much ad- 
mired. 

M. Ihave a Patella pelluctda—a very fine specimen. 

fT, Indeed! Have you an Aspidophorus Euro- 
peus? 

M. Are you fond of ferns, Hester? (Going io fern- 
ery.) 

HI. I do not care to keep them in the house. ‘They 
grow so luxuriantly near here that one can admire 
their beauty in every walk. 

M. But mine are all English ferns. 

HT. Indeed! (Examines ferns.) 

M. I gave quite a small fortune for some of the 
specimens. This one is the Asplenitum adiantum 
nigrum, this the Lastica dilatata, this the Polystichum 
aculeatum, and this the Scolopendium; but the treasure 
of all is this lovely, lovely Polysiichum lonchites. 

HT. They are very pretty; but I think our American 
ferns are quite as graceful. 

M. If you will excuse me a moment, I will find my 

portfolio of dried specimens to show you. (Exit.) 
(Enter Susy.) 

S. Oh, Miss Hettie, ain’t our Miss Maud got a heap 
o’ learning in that cemetery she’s been to? 

H. (Smiling.) It seems so, Susy. 

S. I was listening to her going it all over—all about 
the polly-stick-um and the goney on nosa and screw 
pole on nosa, and salt-cellar beetles. 


Sholving Off. 71 


H. Those are the Latin names, Susy, for very com- 
mon little fishes and beetles. 

S. Do tell! But I ’spect they must be, for she calls 
the soap a slaponoseous compound. 

H. Indeed! 

S. And how was I to know she wanted the bread, 
when she asked for farinaceous tood? 

H. What is butter? 

S. She ain’t got to the butter yet. But the pickles 
are all con—con— 

H. Condiments! 

S. But I came in to see if I was to put on a plate for 
you at dinner. 

H. Yes, Susy, I shall stay to-day. 

(Enter Maud.) 

M. TI find my portfolio is in one of my trunks at 
Aunt Miriam’s. Are you fond of conchology. 

H. Only to admire. I have not studied it. 

M. It is most absorbing. (Opens cabinet drawer.) 
My collection is very limited, as you see; but I have 
some rare specimens. 

HI. (Pointing.) That is a pretty Trochus ciziphinus. 

M. But not so fine as this Littorima littoralis. 

HT. Still, periwinkles are so common. 

M. (Pettishly.) Lassure you there is nothing common 
in the collection. 

H. Thad no intention of offending you, Maud. 

M.I believe you had not, Hester. This is very 
fatiguing weather. 

HT. Very. (Sinks into a chair.) 

M. The heat quite prostrates a delicate person. 
(Fans hersel} languidly.) 

H. It is almost insupportable! (Fans herselj with 
ihe same air of languor.) 

M. I think it is quite an error to suppose country 
air cooler than that in the city. The sea breezes are 
the only real relief. 


72 practical Dialogues. 


H. Or mountain air. I sigh for the summit of 
Mont Blanc! 
M. (Very sentimentally.) 


“‘T love to stand on some high beetling rock, 
Or dusky brow of savage promontory, 
Watching the waves, with all their white crests dancing, 
Come, like thick plum’d squadrons, to the shore 
Gallantly bounding!” 


H. (Still more sentimentally.) I love the mountain 
air? 
“The mountain wind! most spiritual of all 
The wide earth knows—when, in the sultry time, 
He stoops him from his vast cerulean hall, 
He seems the breath of a celestial clime, 
As if from heaven’s wide-open gates did flow 
Health and refreshment on the world below!” 


M. Are you still fond of long walks, Hester? You 
were untiring last year. 

fT, Last year! Oh, one really cannot be expected 
io retain any favorite taste for such an age! 

iM. How do you amuse yourself in this dull little 
placer 

H. We continue to exist, with lawn tennis, croquet, 
outdoor concerts, charades, tableaux, music and pic- 
nics. All vulgar pursuits to minds of such exquisite 
refinement as ours. 

M.1I am weary of all such trifling pursuits, and 
pass my time in study. As Cicero says: “Anime 
cultus quasi quidam humanitatis est.” (“Cultivation 
is as necessary to the mind as food is to the body.’’) 

HT. And yet Seneca remarks: “ Inierdum et insanaire 
qucundum est.” (“It is sometimes pleasant to play 
the fool.’’) 

S. Dinner waits. (Ewii.) 


Making a Living. 73 


Making a Living. 


CHARACTERS: John Hopewell, Samuel Hardpan, and 
an Old Man. 


[One is plainly dressed, and the other has a dress-suit, a cane, and 
a high hat. One enters from one side and the other from the other.} 


John. (Aside.) Why, there is my old schoolmate, 
but how plainly he is dressed. (Aloud.) Hallo, 
Sam, is that you? Why, I haven’t seen you in anage. 

Samuel. (Aside.) Oh, how finely he is dressed up. 
(Aloud.) Why, how are you? You are looking pretty 
well, I think. 

J. Yes, ’m pretty well. But what are you doing? 

S. I’m learning to be an architect—draw plans for 
building houses, you know. 

J. Oh, I see. Well, does it pay? 

S. Not now, but it will by-and-bye, I think. 

J. What do you get? 

S. I get four dollars a week, but when I learn the 
business I will get more. 

J. Only four dollars a week! Why, I get seven. 

S. Let me see. You are in a drug store, I believe? 

J. Yes, that’s it. 

S. You ought to lay up money atthat rate. You 
pay two dollars for your board at home, and that leaves 
you $5 a week. 

J. Well, I’m in debt, I’m sorry to say. I owe for 
my boots and cigars, and for my clothes. 

S. Why, you ought not to be in debt. 

(Enter Old Man.) 

Old man. Who is this in debt? Isit you? (Poznt. 
ing to S.) 

SoG) sir. 

O.M. Is it you? (Pointing to J.) 

J. Yes, sir. JI am in debt somewhat. 

O. M. What, indebt! Youasingle man! You not 


74 JPractical Dialogues. 


yet twenty-five years old. I will tell you why. You 
are a second-class drug clerk. You cannot tell arsenic 
from soda. You can draw soda-water and smile at 
the girls. You dress up and try to make people think 
you are a person of riches. Now what is your object 
in life? 

J. I don’t know as I know what it is. 

O.M. No you don’t, I guess. But don’t you flatter 
yourself that the people of this country don’t know 
ithe difference between the bray of a mule and the roar 
of lion. You are doing just as lots of silly people do. 
I know heaps of them who go hungry and dodge cred- 
itors for the sake of blinding people’s eyes. A woman 
whose husband earns $z0 per week has no business 
with silks and diamonds, a $15 hat or a $7 pair of 
shoes, but she is the person who will have them, for 
fear that somebody will think her husband isn’t rich. 
Half the country is in debt for clothes which only the 
other half can afford. Often the woman who wears 
the best clothes on the street has the most holes in 
her parlor carpet at home. The man who swells the 
biggest often owes the most to his tailor and hoot- 
maker. You are a poor man. You'll never have a 
hundred dollars in the bank as long as you live. You'll 
never earn more than enough to run a small drug store 
in a small way, and yet you are swelling around as if 
a $20,000 mortgage wouldn’t bother you half an hour. 
What’s your object in life, I say? 

J. I—I—don’t know, sir. 

O. M. Then go home, take off that swallow-tailed 
coat. Jump out of those tight pants. Drop that silk 
necktie. Then go to work and begin to pay your debts. 
Let your clothes match your salary. Let your board 
match your clothes. Be what you are—a common sort 
of person whose assets will cover his liabilities by hard 
pulling. You can’t deceive anybody, and the less you 
try to the better people will like you. (£xit.) 


Heeking a Subfect for an Cssay. 75 


J. What cross old fellow is that? 

S. That? Why, that is Reuben Jones; he was once 
a poor man, and got only two dollars a week. Now he 
is worth $50,000. 

J. You don’t say so! How did he get it? 

S. By economy and work. He is building a large 
brick house on Sherman street, and my boss drew the 
plans. And I tell you, John, as they say, “them’s my 
sentiments.” (Exii.) 

J. (Looks at his clothes; takes off his hat and looks 
at it.) I believe they are right. I must spend less on 
my clothes and put my money in the bank, and I will 
do it. The girls smile sweetly on me, but who knows 
what they say when they get away? People respect 
clothes that are substantial, even if they are not fash- 
ionable. This is Samuel Hardpan now. If he tries 
he will be a rich man. He’s going to do differently. 
(Exit.) 

8 2 we 


Seeking a Subject for an Essay. 


CHARACTERS: Melinda, Editor. 


[The young lady stands in the doorway of the stage and gazes 
around in a friendly manner. ‘The Editors sit at a table writing.] 


Melinda. Is the Editor in? 

Editor. He is; can he serve you? He will do all he 
can, unless you are on a wild and fruitless search for a 
piece of plum-colored satin to match a dress, or a new 
kind of carpet-sweeper that will never by any possibility 
keep in working order three consecutive days— 

M. I dote on your paper. I saw such a sweet verse 
in it the other day. It went like this: 


“The bloom on the heather is fading, darling, 
The moorlands are crimson gold, 
God grant we may live together, darling, 
Together till we grow old.” 


76 Practical Dialogues. 


E. Whew! ‘That is pretty good, we think; but the 
young man who does that part is notin now. Perhaps 
I could supply his place. What is it you want? 

M. I am going to graduate next month, sir, and I’ve 
got to read an essay. Isn’titfunny? Just think of it! 

. E. It will be very— 

| M. And I thought that perhaps the editor would give 
‘me some advice about the subject of my essay and the 
general manner in which it should be treated. 

E. I guess likely I could. You've got your white 
dress made, I suppose? 

M. Yes, sir. 

E. Well, that’s a good deal. You never can graduate 
without a white dress, you know. Even if your 
father is poor. What were you thinking of writing 
about P 

M.1I1 didn’t exactly know, sir. That was what 
puzzled me. 

E. The “Bud of Promise” is a pretty good title. 

M. The what! 

E. The “Bud of Promise.” It’s the neatest thing 
there is going now for girl graduates. 

M. Could you tell me how you would handle this 
new idea? 

E. Oh, certainly. You want to start your essay with 
a few remarks about spring being the most beautiful 
season of the year—the time when the tender blades of 
grass, kissed by the dews of heaven and warmed by the 
kindly rays of the sun, peep forth; at first timidly, and 
then in all the royal splendor of their vivid colors, from 
the bosom of the earth that was such a while ago 
wrapped in the mantle of snowy whiteness and fast 
bound in the chilly arms of hoary-headed old winter. 

Then say that as the glad sunshine leaps through 
the bits of foliage that begin to come out and cast 
their grateful shade upon the earth, they fall upon the 
buds that are loading the fruit-trees, and soon on 


Heeking a Subject for an Cssay, 77 


every branch the buds ripen and burst forth in a 
wealth of floral loveliness. 

Then compare the maiden, just stepping forth from 
the precincts of the school, and gazing with wistful, 
eager eyes out into the world just like the little bud 
upon the tree, and say that she, too, by the aid of the 
sunlight which comes from education, will soon develop 
into a woman, that priceless gift of God to man, and 
ever cast about her the holy light of love. That ought 
to bring you lots of cheers—the small boys will stamp 
so that the dust will fly in that school-house. 

M. It does sound nice, doesn’t it? 

E. Of course you know that when a girl graduates 
she is generally as useless as a fan in a cyclone, but it 
won’t do to say so. But the people like to see the 
girls in white dresses, and they don’t stop to see whether 
you are to be useful or not. 

M. Thank you very much, sir. (Starting for the 
door.) 

E. Don’t forget to tie your essay with a blue ribbon. 
Half of the business is in the blue ribbon. 

M. No, sir, I won’t. 

E. And tell your papa to buy a bouquet to throw at 
you. 

M. Yes, sir. Good-bye. Many thanks. You’ll come 
around and report my essay? (Evwii.) 

E. Well, perhaps—but remember the blue ribbon. 

And now let me see what was I going to write about; 
that young woman has turned my head topsy-turvy. 
A pretty fine girl, I think; she’ll look well in a white 
dress. Pshaw! This won’t do. Ill go and get my 
lunch; then I can write like sixty! (Ezxzit.) 


78 Practical Dtalogues. 


Noted People in Disguise. 


{It will add to the interest if the pupils who impersonate can wear 
some striking garments or head-dresses. The following may be 
read or recited. At the close pupils may guess the character. Be- 
sides these, short ones may be invented by the pupils like that given 
to the second pupil.] 


Teacher. The first character will be a king’s daugh- 
ter. 

1st Pupil. My father was a king, and very soon 
after I was born I was declared the heir of his throne, 
though I was a girl and had an older sister. But 
my fortune changed when I was three years old; my 
father had my mother put to death, and a younger 
brother was made heir to the throne. I was given 
a good education, however. When I was only twelve 
years old I could read the Latin, French, Italian, 
Spanish and Flemish languages; but I was particu- 
larly fond of history. 

After my father’s death my brother was made 
king, but he died in a short time and my older sister 
took the crown. We were not on good terms, and 
bad people stirred up strife between us. Some of 
them wanted me to be queen, and when my sister 
found this out she had me put in prison, and came 
near killing me. I had a very hard life for a few 
years, then my sister died and I was made queen. 
I immediately began to receive offers of marriage; 
everybody wanted me to marry—kings and princes 
sought my hand, but I refused them all. I had a 
great deal of trouble during my reign. 

There were enemies at home and abroad; people 
tried to take my throne from me, and put my cousin 
on it. I had her shut up so that could not be done. 
Then it was said that she and some others were plan- 
ning to have me killed. ‘This made some of my sub- 
jects very angry, and they tried her for treason and 


Rotcd People in Disguise, 79 


she was put to death. I have been very severely 
blamed for this, but it is now generally believed that 
I did not sign her death-warrant; that it was forged. 
I always had a very quick temper, and said and did 
many things that would not be considered ladylike 
now, but my reign is one of the most glorious; my 
country and my people still speak of me as “good 
Queen Bess.” 

Teacher. The second was a most popular orator in 
his day. 

2d Pupil. And I was born in Kentucky and was 
beloved by many people. Once they proposed to 
make me president, but failed. I said I would rather 
be right than president. 

Teacher. The third is one of the most striking 
figures in history. 

3d Pupil. I was born in Kentucky. My father 
was a poor farmer. I was very large and strong for 
my age, and used to help a great deal on the farm. 
I went to school only one year, but in that time J 
learned to handle figures pretty lively, and became 
very fond of reading. I used to read “‘Atsop’s Fables,”’ 
“Robinson Crusoe,” “ Pilgrim’s Progress,”’ and all suc’ 
books I could find; and I used to keep a scrap-book 
in which I copied from the books I read, the passages 
I liked best. When I was sixteen, I began to run a 
ferry-boat across the Ohio, and three years afterward 
I made a trip to New Orleans. Once my brother 
and I, while running a valuable cargo down to New 
Orleans, on a flatboat, got stuck on a dam, and the 
boat was in danger of going to pieces. I invented an 
apparatus for lifting it off the bar, and afterward ob- 
tained a patent for my invention. 

When I was twenty, my father moved to Illinois, 
cleared off fifteen acres of land, and built a log-cabin 
on it. I split all the rails for the fence around the 
clearing, and I never heard the last of it. I was 


80 Practical Dialoques. 


known far and wide as a rail-splitter. I was always 
quite popular among the boys for my skill in wrest- 
ling and other sports, and as I grew older I became 
quite a famous stump-speaker. I used to relate 
funny stories, and frequently made these tell against 
my rivals. One of these rivals used to sneer at my 
poverty, but I always got the best of him. I was 
nominated by one party, and he by another, for a 
very high office, and I waselected. I discharged the 
duties of my office faithfully, though I was obliged 
to offend a great many people by so doing. But I 
was never unkind to any one; I set at liberty more 
than a million of people; I stood by my country to the 
close of a bloody strife, and almost immediately after- 
ward received my death blow from the asasssin’s knife. 
To the last my motto was: ‘“‘Malice toward none, 
charity for all.” 

Teacher. This character did not turn out well at all. 

4th Pupil. 1 am a great admirer of beauty. I 
make a study of it. I lay down rules to measure it by. 
IT like to see it considered in everything. My theory 
is that the poorest workingman can have a beautiful 
home if he will use a little care in selecting the things 
he puts in it. I think people could greatly improve 
the style of their clothes if they would. The human 
figure should be so arrayed as to set off its fine pro- 
portions and curving outlines. The square coats, 
long pants, and thick boots that men wear are very 
ugly. They should wear close-fitting knee-breeches, 
long stockings, and slippers. Women should wear 
long, loose, flowing robes, instead of dividing them- 
selves up into ungainly zones and ridges. 

I tried to convince people of the importance of 
these things. I traveled, and lectured, and showed 
men, by my own example, how to improve the cut 
of their coats. But they only laughed and called 
me the ‘‘Apostle of knee-breeches.” The beauty of 


Jpoted People in Disquise, 8x 


the sunflower I wore will in time be recognized. We 
shall see better taste displayed in all walks of life. 

Teacher. ‘This character was a famous Italian. 

5th Pupil. My father was a poor musician, but he 
managed to give me a fair education. I set my heart 
,;upon learning painting, but my father sent me away 
to study medicine. A celebrated botanist became my 
tutor. My love of drawing led me to study geometry. 
I kept on studying, and after a time I discovered a 
law about the swinging of a pendulum. I invented 
a balance, and wrote a paper on the center of gravity— 
which secured for me a professorship in a university. 
My knowledge, my salary, and my reputation in- 
creased, until such crowds came to hear me that I 
frequently had to lecture in the open air. I con- 
structed a number of labor-saving machines, which 
were very useful to my country. One day I heard 
of a man who had invented an instrument that made 
distant objects seem near. I went to visit him, came 
home and made a telescope which magnified three 
times. This I presented to the senate and my salary 
was raised to a thousand florins. I made another 
telescope that magnified eight times, then another a 
power of thirty times. I now began to study astron- 
omy; I read all I could find on the subject, observed 
with my telescope and thought about it, until I was 
convinced that the sun stood still and the earth moved 
around it. As soon as I published this I was arrested 
for teaching what they said was contrary to the Bible. 
I was sentenced to imprisonment to do penance, and 
commanded to take back what I had said about the 
earth. I did as.I was bid, put on sack-cloth, knelt 
down and swore that I would never again teach that 
the earth moved, that I detested the very idea of such 
a thing, and that I would do the penance imposed upon 
me. But I didn’t mean what I said. I muttered to 
myself as I rose from my knees, ‘‘It does move for all 


82 practical Dialogues. 


that.”” I was never allowed my liberty again. I lost 
my health, my-sight, and my hearing, and life became 
a burden to me. 

Teacher. This character said some very cute things. 

6th Pupil. When I was fourteen years old, I started 
out to seek my fortune, but Fortune turned her back 
on me. I first set up a store in a little town out west. 
I sold grindstones, needles, scythes, calico, candy, and 
other things too numerous to mention. In two years 
the sheriff sold me out. I took a farm on credit, but 
I gained no credit from my farming, and was obliged 
to give it up. J obtained a place as master of a steam- 
boat on the Mississippi, but I sunk three vessels, and 
lost between eight and ten thousand dollars that 
didn’t belong to me. After several other ventures, 
which turned out no better, I settled down to auction- 
eering. This went very well, but there wasn’t much 
of it to be done. One day the editor of a local paper 
called on me, and said that a man who could talk as 
well as I, should be able to write. I consented to 
write for his paper. I wrote a short piece every week 
for six months, but nobody noticed them. One day I 
came across something Artemus Ward had written. 
The more I read it the more I wondered what people 
found in it. “It’s the bad spelling,” I said to myself. 
So I took one of my own pieces, and “slewed round 
the spelling,’”’ and sent it to the printer. It was pub- 
lished, and every newspaper copied it. Suddenly I 
became famous. A New York paper offered me $100 
a week for half a column of essays and sayings. Then 
I began to make money. I published an aimanac 
which brought me several thousand dollars. A rich 
old lumberman, up in Michigan, died, and left me 
$5,000. I was called all over the country to lecture. 
I was a great success, and Fortune smiled on me all 
the rest of my life. 


ard Students, 83 


Hard Students. 


CHARACTERS: Esther and Ida. 


[They sit together and seem resolved to spend the entire evening 
in hard waayy 


Esther. Now we must not waste a single minute. 
Don’t speak or look at me. (Vigorously and intenily 
engaged with her history.) In 1673 Marquette dis- 
covered the Mississippi. In 1673 Marquette dis—— 
What did you say, Ide? 

Ida. 1 say I would much rather see one’s hair coiled 
than braided. 

E. Yes; so would I. It’s much more stylish, and 
then it looks classical, too; but how do you like—Oh, 
dear, I never will learn this lesson! In 1863 Lafayette 
discovered the Wisconsin. In 1863 Lafayette discov- 
ered the——well! what’s the matter with me any- 
how? In 1673 Marquette discovered the Mississippi. 

I. I think you remarked that before. 

E. Marquette discovered the Mississippi in— 

I. I don’t care if he did. I suppose the Mississippi 
would have got along just as well if Marquette had 
never looked at it. Now, see here, Esther, is there 
anything important in the fact that Columbus dis- 
covered Jamestown, and that George Washington won 
the battle of Shiloh? Of course there isn’t. His- 
tory is a horrible study anyhow. 

I. (Caressing the pages of her French grammar.) 
No use either. Now French is so much nicer. One 
can introduce French phrases very often and then 
everybody must know that she has studied the lan- 
guage. What is the lesson to-morrow? Oh, yes, 
conjugation of parler. Let’s see: how does it com- 
mence? Je parle, tu parle, il parle— 

E. (Casting aside the history.) But, Ide, conjuga- 
tons don’t amount to anything; I know some phrases 


84 practical Dialogues, 


that are appropriate here and there, and in most every 
locality, and how’s anybody going to know but what 
I have the conjugations all by heart? French cannot 
be of much importance either. Why it’s the fashions 
we want from France; we don’t care for their lan- 
guage. 

I. Well, then let’s drop those and take up geometry. 
Have you got your geometry? (Reaching ajter her 
geometry.) 

EH. Geometry? No, I am just going to study it. 
Thirty-fifth, isn’t it? (Takes up the geometry.) Let 
the triangle A B C, triangle A B—say, Ide, have you 
read about the young Duke of Newcastle? I think 
it is simply gorgeous. I am completely fascinated 
with it. 

I. Oh, this is a horrible theorem! Let the triangle 
A B C be right-angled at B. On the side B C erect 
the square B D. On the side A B the square A I. 
On the side—did I tell you Professor Carracioli gave 
me a new piece to-day—a sonata? It is really intense. 
The tones fairly stir my soul. I am never going to 
take anything but sonatas after this. I got another 
new piece, too. Its name is Etudes. Isn’t it funny? 
{ asked Tommy this noon what it means, and he says 
it is Greek for nothing. It is quite apropos, for there 
is really nothing to it—the same thing over and over. 

E. (Resuming study.) Where was I? O yes; the 
side A C, the square A E, draw the line; it is horrible; 
come, let’s go at the astronomy. It’s on Are the planets 
inhabited? Now, I think they are, and I have thought 
about it a great deal. I banged my hair again last 
night. I wanted a Langtry bang just too bad for any 
use, but pa raved about it and I had to givein. Yes, 
I think they are inhabited. I should like to visit 
some of them, but you would not catch me living on 
Venus. Eight seasons! just think how often we would 
have to have new outfits to keep up with the styles. 


An Autunm Crercise, 85 


I. (Rising and gathering up books.) Well, one cannot 
study their eyes out, that’s all. I’m just used up. 

E. What! you are not going to stop? but I suppose 
you are tired. IT am. It always makes me so sick to 
study a whole evening like this. I think the teacher 
ought to give us easier lessons. I think I look pale, 
and it’s nothing but these lessons. Well, let’s go out 
on the balcony and look at the moon. (Exeunt.) 


$2 SE 


An Autumn Exercise. 
By Mary WINpsor ALLEN. 

[A little girl enters, dressed in white, trimmed with leaves or sprays 
o} Virginia creeper (woodbine).] 

Good friends, allow me to introduce myself; my 
name is Virginia Creeper; I can be found in almost 
all grounds, climbing everywhere, sometimes by little 
roots shooting out of my stems, and sometimes 
by tendrils, which having a little sucker at the end 
helps me to hold fast, and climb up, up high over 
stone walls, trees, or dwellings. After a few early 
frosts my dresses appear in their greatest beauty, and 
are trimmed in the highest style of art. I am on the 
trunks of the stiff and sturdy forest trees, and cover 
them with a robe of the gayest crimson and yellow. 
Once a year I hold a jubilee on the banks of streams, 
on the porches of my friends, and even upon the 
church towers. I climb the walls of dwellings and 
in one night cover them with the brightest beauty. 
I am useful as well as ornamental, for £ can protect 
my friends all through hot weather from the strong 
rays of the sun, and ornament their dresses with my 
frost-painted leaves, after my green ones are not needed. 
Good-bye. 

he little boy enters, trimmed with oak leaves or small branches of 
Oak. 


86 Practical Dialogues, 


I can talk about a hundred years. Snow and rain, 
hail-storms and summer suns, have all had their 
chance to greet me, as, standing high up on the hill, 
I have bared my head, or held up my green canopy 
to them. My roots go so deep down into the brown 
soil that the winter’s colds cannot freeze them, and in 
the summer they reach to the little streams under 
ground to obtain moisture, so that my leaves may 
shine in the sunbeams. ‘The dainty green cups that 
all the summer held my polished seed are brown and 
dry now, and I have shaken down a shower of fruit 
out of them, so that the squirrels can begin house- 
keeping at once, at their winter quarters in a neat 
little room found in one of my old boughs. My 
leaves, one by one, I have dropped down to cover up 
the moss and roots of flowers, so that when spring 
comes again, they will wake up quite rested after their 
warm sleep. 


{A smail boy.] 


A song to the oak, the brave old oak, 
Who hath ruled in the greenwood long; 
Here’s health and renown to his broad green crown, 
And his fifty arms so strong. 
There’s fear in his frown when the sun goes down, 
And the fire in the west fades out; 
And he showeth his might on a wild midnight, 
When the storms through his branches shout. 
Then here’s to the oak, the brave old oak, 
Who stands in his pride alone; 
And still flourish he, a hale green tree, 
When a hundred years are gone. 


[Little girl enters, dressed in white, trimmed with wild blue asters, 
not yellow ones.| 

The flower J represent is called an aster, a star; 
and I come with briyht and gay, or delicate colors to 
decorate the fading garments of the summer. You 
can always tell me by my fringy circle of purple, lilac, 


An Autunm Crercise. . 87 


or white petals round a tiny yellow or brown cushion. 
My stems are frail and tender, and are often covered 
with clusters of spicy blossoms. The gardens are 
full of my near and dear relations, but we do not look 
much alike, and I am glad I do not have to stand up 
so straight and stiff as they do, for I should get very 
tired. My dress is more simple than theirs, too, and 
I like it, for I should feel very strange with so many 
stiff quillings around my face. I love the freedom of 
the woods and banks of the streams, and do not even 
mind living in a pretty wet meadow. I do not envy 
my garden relatives at all, but am content to live in 
the peace and quiet of my wild-wood freedom. 

[Litile boy enters with a wreath of elm leaves.] 

These faded yellow leaves from the old elm treee in 
the meadow are its last gift of the season. They have 
done their duty; all the summer long they have helped 
to furnish shade and beauty, and now their work is 
done. But who can describe in words the wonderful 
beauty of a large elm tree? Year after year, as the 
summer comes, it gives us seven millions of leaves, 
exposing a surface of hundreds of thousands of square 
feet of green freshness, giving us acres of foliage. Its 
graceful, drooping branches sway in the wind and are 
admired by all who see beauty in anything. 

[Litile girl enters with stems of fringed gentian, or, if not the flower, 
dressed in blue and white; should have blue eyes. 

When the frosty nights come, covering the withered 
grass and leaves with a shining coat of silver, and the 
chestnut burs pop open in the cool moonlight, we find 
the beautiful fringed gentian beginning to open her 
dark blue eyes. On damp, grassy knolls, on the bor- 
ders of wet meadows, and even by dusty roadsides in 
clumps of low bushes, she shows her beautiful blue- 
fringed flowers to the passers-by. ‘The gentian is shy 
and modest; although she is pretty tall, yet she does 
not get up on high rocks and nod to passers-by as the 


a 


88 Practical Dialogues, 


columbine does, or climb over high porches and trees, 
like the wistaria and trumpet-creeper, but is content to 
know that she is queen among the autumn flowers, if 
her dress is only simple white and blue, and her throne 
the soft brown earth. We call her the classic flower, 
and poets sing her praises in beautiful lines. 


_ [Little girl in white, enters and speaks to the Blue Gentian, who 
4s standing on platform dressed in blue and white.] 


Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, 
And colored with the heaven’s own blue, 
‘That openest when the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night. 


Thou waitest late and com’st alone, 
When woods are bare and birds are flown, 
And frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged Year is near his end. 


Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
Look through its fringes to the sky, 
Blue—blue—as if the sky let fall 

A flower from its cerulean wall. 


[A little girl enters in white or yellow, trimmed with clusters of 
golden rod.] 

You see in me, everybody’s flower. I spring up all 
over the country. On rocky, wooded hills, where banks 
are moist and the soil is rich; in damp pine woods, 
where the air is fragrant; on mountain tops, and along 
the shores of lakes; near the sea-side, and on wet 
grassy prairies. Everywhere, all over our cool north, 
and down toward the sunny south, I scatter my 
wealth of flowers. My golden stems bear up my 
golden blossoms, and it is no wonder that I am called 
golden rod. Late in the season, when the delicate 
flowers of the spring and summer have gone to sleep, 
I begin my work of decorating. Old fences, stone 
walls, and dusty roadsides soon have a changed appear- 
ance. Patiently I paint for many weeks, and by the 


An Autumn Crercise, 89 


time my fall work is done I have the pleasure of know- 
ing that I have made everybody happy. 
[A little boy enters with a basket of autumn leaves, which he scatters 
on platjorm as he begins to speak the second verse.] 
“Come little leaves,” said the wind one day, 
“Come o’er the meadows with me and play; 
Put on your dress of red and gold; 
Summer is gone, and the days grow cold.” 


Soon as the leaves heard the wind’s loud call, 
Down they came fluttering, one and all; 
Over the brown fields they danced and flew, 
Singing the soft little songs they knew. 


Dancing and whirling the little leaves went; 
Winter had called them and they were content; 
Soon, fast asleep in their earthy beds, 

The snow laid a coverlet over their heads. 


[A boy enters with Indian corn and husks.] 


A song for the plant of my own native west, 
Where nature and freedom reside, 

By plenty still crowned, and by peace ever blest, 
To the corn! the ripe corn of her pride. 


When the summer is fierce all its banners are green, 
Each warrior’s long beard groweth red, 

His emerald-green sword is sharp-pointed and keen, 
And golden his tassel-plumed head. 


But brown comes the autumn, and sere grows the corn, 
And the woods like a rainbow are dressed, 

And but for the cock and the noontide horn, 
Old Time would be tempted to rest. 


"The humming-bee fans off a shower of gold 
From the mullein’s long stalk as it sways, 

And dry grow the leaves which protecting enfold 
The ears of the well-ripened maize. 


At length Indian summer, the lovely, doth come 
With its blue frosty nights, and middays still, 
When distantly clear sounds the waterfall’s hum, 

And the sun smokes ablaze on the hill. 


go practical Dialogues. 


A dim veil hangs over the landscape and flood, 
And the hills are all mellowed in haze, 

While Fall, creeping on like a monk ’neath his hood, 
Plucks the thick rustling wealth of the maize. 


[A larger girl enters dressed in white.} 


Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately 
sprang and stood 

In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? 

Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers 

Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours. 


The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, 

And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer's 
glow; 

But on the hill the golden rod, and the aster in the wood, 

And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty 
stood, 

Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the 
plague on men, 

And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, 
glade, and glen. 


And, now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days 
will come, 

To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home, 

The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance 
late he bore, 

And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no 
more. 

[A very small girl enters.] 


The lovely spring and summer blossoms are the 
fairies that attend Mother Nature in all her rambles 
through woodland and meadow, and they are tenderly 
cared for by her through the long winter. She tucks 
them up most carefully in their snug little beds, with 
snow-white blankets wrapped around them, and by a 
gentle rocking of her own, keeps them sleeping through 
the long, cold night. With the first mild days of the 
next spring, the brave ones, who are not afraid of a 


Aunt Machel in the City. 91 


cold morning, wake up early, and are soon dressed 
again and ready for play. Our wild-wood pets are all 
sound asleep now, and we will let them take a good, 
long nap. 


ew 


Aunt Rachel in the City. 


CHARACTERS: Aunt, Mary. 


[The girl that personates Aun: Rachel should wear a poke bonnet 
and spectacles; dress in old-fashioned style wear cloth gloves, too 
large; carry a closed parasol, and speak in a high-pitched voice. ] 


Mary. Well, Aunt Rachel, tell me what you saw 
in the city. Did it equal your expectations ? 

Aunt, Oh dear, ask me no questions, child; it has 
made me so dizzy I shall never recover my senses 
again. 

M. Oh! it can’t be so bad as that; do tell me some- 
thing about it. What did you see there? 

A. What didn’t I see there? Everybody in motion 
and minding nobody but themselves, and everybody 
in everybody’s way. Oh dear, I should go distracted 
to live there a single day! 

M. You would get used to it, aunt. 

A. I could as soon get used to suicide. And how 
the people do live there nobody can tell; and where! 
they get enough to eat is beyond me. 

M. Mother says they live by eating each other up. 

A. Well, I believe they do, and they do say there 
are legions of doctors who kill folks to make monoto- 
nies of them. 

M. What are monotonies, aunt? 

A. Skiletons they are called now, my dear. but 
they were always called monoionies in my day. And, 
oh dear me, such doings! 


92 Practical Dialogues. 


M. Did you buy the dress you wanted ? 

A. Oh dear, I can’t say what I bought. I only 
looked into a shop, and a young man asked me very 
politely to walk in. So I stepped in, and he took 
down some calicoes. ‘‘I wish for muslin de laines,” 
said I. ‘Those are what we call muslins,” said he, 
“better than the article you inquired for, and only 
half as dear.” “But I want something dark,” said I. 
“No, you don’t,” says he, “nobody wears dark colors, . 
now.” ‘Will these colors wash?” said I. “To be 
sure they will,” said he; and so I bought fifteen yards. 

M. Mercy! 

A. I tried a piece of the calico on my way home, 
and would you believe it, every grain of the colors 
washed out, and left the bare white cotton. How 
could that nice young man lie so! 

M. Was that all you bought? 

A. Oh, no. I heard a man, as I passed another 
shop, crying at the top of his voice, “Going! going! 
a watch worth a hundred dollars going for one! Who'll 
buy? Madam,” said he, calling right out to me, 
as if he was an old acquaintance, “will you see this 
watch, a gold watch, patent /zver, sold for nothing, 
actually thrown away?” “Is it good gold?” said I. 
“All gold is good,” said he. ‘Will it go?” said I. 
‘It is going,” said he; “shall it go for nothing?” 
So I gave the dollar, and now they tell me the watch 
‘is only calvinized, and only goes—when it is carried. 

M. What is calvinized, aunt? 

A. I don’t know, dear, but I mean to ask Parson 
Spintext. 

M. Did you visit any place of amusement? 

A. Oh, yes. I went to a phrenologist, one co 
tells fortens by feeling of one’s head. 

M. What did he say of your head, aunt?» 

A, Oh, he said I had philopropotatoes large, and . 
was too indulgent to my children and grandchildren, © 


helps to KRemenrber, 93 


when, mercy knows, I never had a child or a grand- 
child in the world. 

M. Well, you got home safe and sound, and didn’t 
lose much money. 

A. And oh! if the sights and noise of the city did 
not utterly craze me, I thought the cars would. Such 
a puffing and wheezing and whirling, I wonder any 
head is left on my shoulders. 

M. Well, now you have got back, I shall give you 
a cup of tea, and get you to bed. 

A. That’s the very thing I need. How I pity those 
people that live in the city. I will go right into the 
kitchen and drink my tea by the stove. (Exeunt.) 


Sw 


Helps to Remember. 
' CHARACTERS: Polly, Nelly. 


Polly. I believe I have the worst memory in the 
world. 

Nelly. I should be willing to exchange with you. 

P. You don’t mean it! I thought you never forgot 
anything. 

N. I have very hard work to remember. 

P. But you do remember. How do you manage it? 

N. I am learning how to do it. There are a good 
many tricks about remembering, I find. 

P. Tell me some of them. 

N. Well, what is it you find so slippery this morn- 
ing? 

P. This list of exceptions in gender in the fourth 
declension (reads), ‘“‘Acus, colus, dumus, manus, por- 
ticus, tribus”—I never can learn that. How would 
you get it? 


y4 JPractical Dialogues. 


N.I study out the meaning of the words. Just 
tell me the meanings, and J’ll show you. 

P. Well, there’s a needle and a distaff, and a house 
and a hand, a portico and a tribe. 

N. A whole tribe of women used to sit on the por- 
tico of a house, each with her distaff or needle in her 
hand. See! you have them all in the sentence. See 
if you haven’t. ‘Tribe or tribus of women, portico or 
porticus; house or domus; hand or manus; needle 
or acus; distaff or colus. Say over, tribe of women, 
portico of house, colus, distaff or needle. 

P. Why, yes, that’s a fact; that’s quite a scheme: 
But you can’t always do as well as that! 

N. No, not always. 

P. What do you do about these names in geography ? 

INN. Oh, I know a fine trick about learning them. 
I find out their meaning and derivation, and then 
make up a little story. 

P. How soe 

NN. Well, you know, down in Central America 
there is a Mosquito Coast, and I always remember 
that Cape Gracious is north of it, by imagining that 
the sailors coasting by there were so annoyed by the 
mosquitoes that when they rounded the cape and met 
a fresh breeze, they named the cape in gratitude for 
their escape. 

P. Why, that’s good again. 

N. I know it, I don’t forget it. Then, when I was 
studying Europe, I always thought it odd that Turkey 
was just below Hungary, and Greece just under 
Turkey. 

P. Why, so it is. 

N. But I don’t allow myself to use such tricks 1fI 
can find better helps to memory. I prefer to find the 
real derivation of names, and why they were given. 

P. For instance— 

N. All the ‘‘News,” for instance—~New York, and 


Doing Business Under Wifliculties. —g5 


New Jersey, and New Zealand, and New Bedford, 
and Nova Scotia, and Nova Zembla. In such cases 
I look out the old York and old Jersey, etc., and so 
remember both at once. It is much easier to remember 
two connected facts or names than one alone. 

P. Do you do the same in botany? 

N. Oh, yes! most of all. 

P. Give me an example. 

N. Well, ‘‘Mitella diphylla.’ ‘These words mean 
‘A little bishop’s cap with two leaves,” and that is 
exactly what the flower, or at least the seed-vessel, 
looks like. I never forget it. 

P. That is pretty. 

N. “Aphylion uniflorum” mean one flower and no 
leaves. 

P.I catch your idea. I shall try some of those 
schemes and remember better, I hope. (Exeunt.) 


2 2 


Doing Business Under Difficulties. 


CHARACTERS: Jones, Robinson. 


[Jones must be enough of an actor to ‘‘think out loud” quite 
naturally. He must answer some of Robinson’s questions without 
looking at him; he must be at desk facing audience, at one side of 
stage; Robinson enters at the other. There will be a big sign up: 
“Jones, Brown & Co., Groceries and Produce.” A heap of letters 
are piled up on Jones’ table; an order-book at his side, and every- 
thing must be as realistic as possible.] 


Jones. Dear, dear! I’ve got ten days’ business here; 
how can I ever get through with it? Well! here goes! 
(Writes.) “Smith & Co.: Gentlemen, please ship 
me— PP] 

Robinson (entering). Good morning, Mr. Jones. 

J. Good morning; have a seat. (Continues writ- 


96 practical Dialogues. 


ing.) ‘‘Please ship me immediately (reads from order- 
book) fifty bushels—” 

Rob. Excuse me, but will you please direct me to 
the post-office? Jam a stranger here. 

J. Certainly. Just round the corner to your right, 
you can’t miss it. (Writes.) “Immediately, fifty 
bushels—”’ 

Rob. I beg pardon, but have you an envelope to 
‘Spare? 

J. On that desk. (Points to another desk.) Help 
yourself. (Writes.) “Fifty bushels of envelopes—” 
O no, no! (Scratches tt out.) Apples, I mean. (Writes.) 
“Also (reads from order-book) fifty bushels of—” 

Rob. May I trouble you for a postage stamp ? 

J. Yes, yes! In that box. (Points, then writes.) 
“Fifty bushels of postage stamps and—” O no! 
(scratches 1t out) 1 mean beans. (Wriies.) ‘“And—” 
(reads from book) “‘four hundred pounds—”’ 

Rob. I’d very much like to have a match if it wouldn’t 
put you out. 

J. (Aside.) Vd give a gross to put him out. 
When shall I ever get my work done! (Jo Rob.) 
There they are on the shelf. (Poinits—writes.) “Four 
hundred pounds of matches—”’ no, no! wrong again— 

Rob. (Who has been feeling in ts pockets for a cigar.) 
I’m exceedingly sorry to annoy you—I thought I had 
one with me, but I haven’t. Would you give me a 
cigar P 

J. Here. (Hands him one.) O what shall I do? 
(Writes.) “And four hundred pounds of cigars—” 
Ah, no! I meant clover. (Looks at book.) ‘Clover 
honey, that’s it! And—” 

Rob. Would you be so kind as to tell me when the 
express train leaves for Bungtown? 

J. (Writing.) ““A hundred pounds of express trains 
and—” No—why! What? (To Rob.) Did you 
ask anything? 


Doing Business Under Difficulties. 97 


Rob. (Who has been looking at time-table, and count- 
ing his money.) I wonder if you would be willing to 
help me out—a little. 

J. Help you out? What do you mean? 

Rob. I mean help me out to the extent of fifty cents. 
I find I’m just that amount short. I only ask it as a 
loan. I regret the annoyance I am giving to a stranger. 
I assure you it pains me deeply to ask it. 

J. You bear the pain like a martyr. I'll lend you 
fifty cents with pleasure, if you’ll promise to catch 
that train. (Gives him money.) 

Rob. I shall be eternally indebted to you. 

J. I don’t doubt it; but (a@szde) Pll think it a good 
bargain if he’ll only go. (Rob. goes to the door.) At 
last I can attend to business. That’s a pretty-looking 
letter! (Holds up letter, all scored through.) Well, 
well, I must finish the order. (Writes.) 

Rob. (Returning.) As sure as I live, it’s raining. 

J. (Writing.) “And don’t fail to send me (looks at 
book) five thousand—”’ 

Rob. (Looking out.) Yes, it’s raining pitchforks. 

J. (Writing.) “Five thousand pitchforks and (looks 
at book)—and all the—er—”’ 

Rob. Whew! It’s coming down cats and dogs. 

J. (Writes.) “All the cats and dogs; and—” No, 
bless me! what have I been writing? Am [I going 
crazy? (Looks up and sees Rob.) What! you back 
again? What do you want now, anyway? 

Rob. (Speaking deliberately.) I am sure you will 
appreciate the peculiar and extraordinary complica- 
tion of circumstances which renders it absolutely 
imperative that I should ask you to loan me an um- 
brella. 

J. An umbrella, hey? Yes, I have one. (Picks 
up an old one, much broken and hands it.) 

Rob. Thank you. I will returnit. (Whisile heard.) 
There’s the train. Good morning. (£vxii.) 


98 practical Dialogues. 


J. Who would believe a man could come in on one 
as busy as I was and give so much trouble! Now I 
must get my letter off. (Takes upa good umbrella.) I 
got rid of that old umbrella any how; serve him right 
to getout. Ill go to the post office rightaway. (Ewvit.) 


% 2 


The Church Fair. 


CHARACTERS: Mary, Lizzie. 


[Lizzie, seated with some crochet-work in her hands—Mary 
enters. ] 


Mary. What are you making, Lizzie? 

Lizzie. (Holding it up.) An afghan. See, it is nearly 
finished. Think it is pretty? 

M. Very; but what an amount of work there is in 
it! 

L. That is so, but I have done it at odd moments, 
you know. It is for the church-fair. 

M. How much will it bring? 

L. We are going to sell it by shares. It ought to 
bring fifty dollars that way. 

M. Do you mean that you are going to have a 
raffle ? 

L. Well, yes—I suppose it might be called that. 
How many shares will you take? They are only 
fifty cents each. 

M. Iam not sure that I believe in church-raffles. 
I am sure I do not, on the whole. 

L. Pshaw! It is all for the “good cause,”’ you know. 

M. I know it, but it is a lottery, all the same. 

L. Why, no it isn’t; you don’t pay your money to 
get the afghan, you give it to the church; you don’t 
feel badly if you don’t draw anything, for you meant 
to give so much money anyway. 


Che Church Fair. 99 


M. Then what is the idea of having any raffle at 
all? I can give my money just as well without taking 
2 chance for the blanket. 

L. Yes, you can, but perhaps you will not. 

M. Then the chance of winning is an inducement 
to give? 

L. Exactly. 

M. Then would I be giving from a right motive? 

L. You give to help the church, and the chance of 
getting the blanket is only an extra reason. 

M. No; I give my money for the sake of winning 
tne afghan, and the aid I may give the church is a 
false excuse to my conscience if I win, and a sham 
source of consolation if I lose. 

L. I do not believe you would care the least bit 
whether you got the afghan or not. It is only a pleas- 
ant way of giving. 

M. Well, perhaps J would not. I can afford to 
pay for several shares, and, as you say, I should be 
willing to give so much to the ‘‘cause.” But I know 
there are a good many who buy shares solely with the 
nope of gaining the afghan. There is Mrs. Brown, 
for instance. She really cannot afford to give more 
‘han a dollar for this fair, but I am told she has bought 
ten shares, and she is as nervous as a cat. She says 
sne just knows she won’t get the afghan. It is always 
her luck... 

L..Is that so? 

M. Yes, and more than that, I never knew a church- 
raffle which did not leave hard feeling in some one’s 
mind. 

L. How so? 

M. Oh, either they quarrel with fate, or they say 
she raffle isn’t fairly conducted, or something like that. 

L. I never thought of that before, but I believe you 
are more than half right. 

M. Another thing—raffling is against the law, and 


100 Practical Dialogues, 


I don’t think the church ought to set the exampe cf 
breaking the laws. 

L. Neither do I. 

M. More than that—church-fairs are coming te be 
considered as swindling concerns, where you pay a 
great deal for a very little, and this raffling business 
does not help their reputation. 

L. It does seem strange that dishonesty and religion 
should be associated. 

M. Yes—and, Lizzie, this community should have 
this fair an honest and an honorable one. 

L. That’s so. I say with you have a fair fair, and 
not charge more than things are worth, and have no 
raffle or guess-cake, or fish-pond, or any other form 
of lottery or swindle. 

M. How would it do to have a gijt table? On this 
put what they choose who wish to help the church; 
the price to be just what they are in stores and not ten 
times what it is worth. All of us have things we could 
spare. 

L. A good thought. Let us try it. 

M. I have a cup and saucer I will give; it was given 
to me but I don’t need it. 

L. Let us go and see what we can find for this talne.’ 

(Exeunt.t 


B&B 


Hamlet’s Father. 


Look here, upon this picture, and on this; 

The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 

See, what a grace was seated on this brow; 
Hyherion’s curls; the front of Jove himself; 

An eye like Mars to threaten and command; 

A station like the herald Mercury. 

Now lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; 

A combination, and a form, indeed, 

Where every god did seem to set his seal 

To give the world assurance of a man new lighted. 


Choosing a ]profession, IOI 


Choosing a Profession. 


CHARACTERS: Charles, Williams, Henry, Thomas, Wil- 
kins. 

[In this dialogue the speakers must be natural in their positions; 
they can walk about and gesticulate; sometimes one claps the other 
on the shoulder. Wilkins has a high hat, and carries a cane. With 
a careful rehearsal, it will be interesting.] 


(Enter Charles and Henry.) 

Charles. I tell you what, Henry: I’m going into 
some sort of business. I’ve been to school here year 
after year, and I’m getting tired of it. 

Henry. Just so all of us boys in the third class feel; 
but what can we do? If we go into business, we 
know so little that it is more profitable to go to school. 

(Enter William.) 

William. What’s up, boys? What business are 
you talking of going into? Charley’s tired of going 
to school, I guess. 

C. Yes, I am. I’m going to do something beside 
bit on a bench and recite lessons. I’m going to be a 
lawyer; at least, I think I will. 

W. A lawyer! My father is a lawyer, and I tell you 
what, doesn’t he work hard! He says he studied law 
four years after he left school; and he is studying al] 
the time now. He says it was four years after he put 
up his “shingle” before he could support himself. 
He says there are twice as many lawyers as are needed. 

(Enter Thomas.) 

C. How would it do to be a doctor? 

H. Here’s Thomas; his father is a doctor; let him 
advise you. 

Thomas. It is the worst business in the world. You 
will have to spend a good many years and a good deal 
of money in getting ready, and then if you don’t cure 


102 Practical Dialogues. 


people you will starve. My father was called to see 
an old lady who had the rheumatism. Now, there 
are forty different kinds of rheumatism, and because 
he did not relieve her right off, she got angry, and 
denounced him as incompetent. No, sir; don’t be a 
doctor. 

H. Then think of patients dying in spite of all you 
can do! 

C. Well, Henry, what would you advise me to go 
into? 

H. I am going to stick to school just as long as I 
can; then I’m going to start out in something new! 

All. New? 

H. Yes; something that nobody else is doing, you 
see. Just what that is I can’t tell you now; but when 
I get through school and college I shall find something 
that no one else is doing, and go into that. Haven’t 
you read about Edison, who went into electricity? 
Nobody knew anything about that, and he is making 
barrels of money. Then if I cannot find anything 
that is new, I shall find some new way of doing an old 
thing. 

T. Yes; don’t you remember Betterson & Co.? 
They have an immense grocery business over in 
Blankton, yet they have been there but a few years. 
They brought in new ideas, my father says, and ideas 
please people. 

C. But where are we to get these new ideas? 

T. By studying, thinking, observing, and reading 
the papers. I didn’t once think so much of these 
things; but last summer I saw Fred Whipple, who 
used to live here and is now out West. He has a big 
farm in Dakota; he keeps up with the times, buys 
every labor-saving machine, and in that way is getting 
rich. 

(Enter Mr. Wilkins.) | 

Wilkins. What are you talking about so earnestly. 


Choosing a Profession. 103 


boys? I declare I thought it was a number of men 
till I got close upon you. 

H. We were debating what to go into when we get 
to be men. 

C. I want to go into something new. 

Wilk. It won’t take long to give my opinion. A 
small horse is soon curried. I went first into keeping 
a livery stable, and didn’t know a horse from a cow. | 
In two years my wagons were all broken and horses 
spavined. ‘Then I started a cabinet shop, and didn’t 
know a bureau from a wood-box. One year fixed me. 
Then I was clerk in a hotel; I could do that, but it 
didn’t pay. Then I got appointed postmaster, but 
now the Democrats are in and I am out. [ tell you, 
don’t go into any business you don’t know more about 
than any one else. Just look at that German drug- 
gist. He knows every plant, and flower, and rock, and 
insect. He is doing first rate. If I had your chance I 
would go to school until I knew more than the teachers. 

C. But that don’t tell me what I had better do. 

Wilk. Nobody can tell you that. You have got to 
study yourself, and find out something that you know 
all about, and, mark you, thai the people want, and go 
into that. 

H. That’s just what my father says. 

W. So does mine. 

T. My father says what the world wants most is a 
good hair-cutter. Last time his hair was cut it looked 
like a picket-fence. 

HH, When my big brother’s was cut it looked like a 
rickety flight of stairs. He says barbers are just like 
editors, their scissors do all the work, and they never 
use their brains. 

C. Well, I think P’ll be a barber and put my brains 
into the business; then I can make money. But isn’t 
that rather a low sort of trade? 

Wik. Every trade is low until you get up in it. 


104 Jaractical Dialoques, 


W. If you are going to be a barber, I advise you te 
practice on your little brother; nobody else would 
stand it. I cut my little brother’s hair the other day, 
and father said it looked as if it had been chewed off 
by an absent-minded horse. 

Wilk. Well, whatever you undertake, you will have 
to set to work in earnest and learn it, and the biggest 
lesson of all is to learn what you are fit for; and I tell 
you, boys, one way to learn is by having hard knocks; 
it is hard but it is sure. I am looking for business as 
hard as I can, but I’m not going into what I don’t 
know anything about. 

T. But that’s the very way the story papers make it 
out. A boy goes into a city, and does famously in a 
business he knows nothing about. 

Wilk. But that isn’t the real way, now, I tell you. 
As for you, Charles, keep on studying, and especially 
study yourself. Find out what you are good for— 
what you can do well. A wise man that I know says, 
“‘A man has no business doing what another man can 
do just as well”; and another wise man declares, that 
every man can do some particular thing better than 
any other man can doit. Now, find out what you can 
do. 

(A bell rings.) 
All. Why, that’s the bell for the lecture. (Exeunt.) 


Be & 
To the Night. 


And this is in the night:—Most glorious night! 

Thou was’t not sent for slumber! let me be 

A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,— 

A portion of the tempest and of thee! 

How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea, 

And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! 

And now again ’tis black,—and now the glee 

Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth 

As if they did rejoice o’er a young earthquake’s bith. 


Ay Wusy Dap. 105 


My Busy Day. 


CHARACTERS: Lawyer, First Man, Second Man, Third 
Man, Fourth Man, Boy. 

[ScenE:—An office: desk, books; a sign suspended, ‘‘My Busy 
Day”; lawyer is reading.) 

No. 1. (Entering.) Good morning, sir; hard at 
work, I see. Doe versus Roe; Roe versus Doe; first 
on one side, then on the other. Now you help Doe, 
and, if needful, you help Roe—that is, if he has the 
“needful.” 

Lawyer. (With dignity.) May I ask, sir— 

No. 1. Certainly, certainly. You want to know 
the object of my call. That is natural and all right. 
But I was so delighted to see you pitching into that— 
that—volume of Blackstone, or Story, or Coke, what- 
ever it is, that 1 forgot myself. You see I have some 
knowledge of the law myself. I was in a law office up 
in Toledo, but I never was cut out for a lawyer— 

L. Please let me know the object of your visit. 

No. 1. Oh, certainly! I was just coming to the 
object; but I am like the witnesses you examine—if 
you interrupt them here they begin over again. 

Lieut 

No. 1. Oh, J won’t begin again! (Opens a pack- 
age.) I find lawyers like it quiet, so they can pursue 
their hard studies. Now, here is a fly-trap that— 

L. (Disgusted.) I don’t want any fly-trap; there 
are no flies here. 

No. 1. No? But when you go to court, just think 
how they trouble you sometimes when you are making 
a speech. Why, up in Detroit a lawyer lost his case— 

L. I don’t want any fly-trap (decidedly). 

No. 1. Did you never think how you could benefit 
your neighbors who are too poor to buy a fly-trap? 
You see the flies will come from them. 


106 practical Dialogues. 


L. No; I don’t want to benefit them in that way. 

No. 1. Now, if you will take a pencil and calculate, 
this trap will catch six millions in a season; and they 
carry microbes. 

L. I can’t help it. I am very busy. 

No. 1. I know it, and I hate to bother you; but 
really you need one of these traps in your kitchen. 

L. No, I don’t; I am particularly busy, I tell 
you. 

No. 1. Yes, I know it; and to have a fly settle on 
your nose just as you are— 

L. Never mind that. I want to be alone. (Riéses.) 

No. 1. Well, you will be sorry over and over. Twenty- 
five cents will kill millions of flies. Just think— 

L. I cannot think. (EHx2t man.) I do believe that 
fellow in five minutes would have made me buy one of 
those traps just to get rid of him. Now, I must settle 
down to work again. I expect Mr. Wilkins (knock 
heard) very soon. Come in. (Enter second man.) 

No. 2. Good-morning, judge. I am glad to find 
you in. Here is the (shows book) ‘‘ Life of Flam Bang 
Hoodle,”’ late king of Timbuctoo. You will die 
laughing over the queer antics of that fellow. Lawisa 
study that renders one solemn and grave. “Grave as 
a judge,” is the proverb, you know. 

L. I shall not want the book. I have now more 
books than I want; I am very busy, indeed— 

No. 2. Just so, judge; but I can talk as you write— 

L. But you forget, I cannot write as you talk. 

No. 2. Ha! ha That reminds me of a little story 
in this book—a very short one. It seems that Flam 
Bang Hoodle had a big dog— 

L. I must beg you will leave me. I am very busy. 
I want no book—only to be alone this morning. 

No. 2. I was only going to tell you how he caught 
men with that dog. Why, the book is worth its price 
just to read about that dog. 


Py Wusy Day. 107 


L. I have no doubt (rises); but I must beg you to 
excuse me. 

No. 2. You will regret it, judge. That book has 
the best things ever written. But if you won’t, you 
won't. (Ewxit.) 

LI. I am alone once more; hope I shall be alone. 
(Knock heard.) ‘That’s Wilkins I’m sure, and yet 
his papers are not ready. Comein. (Enter man.) 

No. 3. I am told you are interested in art, Mr.— 

L. Black. 

No. 3. Black; yes, that’s it. I have here a picture 
of the battle of Bunker Hill. You will find it will 
ornament your walls here very much. You— 

L. I don’t want any pictures. 

No. 3. Why, I thought you were interested in art. 
A man who is interested in art buys pictures. I sold 
to a man in Cleveland more than fifty dollars’ worth 
of pictures. You see, when people come in they will 
find this picture, and will look at it and be interested; 
they will get to coming here. 

LI. No doubt; but— 

No. 3. Then they will think of having a case in 
court, and will put business in your hands. That 
picture will bring you lots of business— 

L. I don’t want it. I am very busy, indeed. I can- 
not be disturbed. (Kzses.) 

No. 3. Well, Pll be going. Sorry you don’t want 

the picture. (Lvxit.) 

JL. Thanks for his departure. Now I'll lock the 
door (walks towards it; door opens, man enters). 

No. 4. Is this Lawyer Black? 

L. Yes. What can I do for you? 

No. 4. Do you know Mr. Smith? 

de. -¥. OB. 

No. 4. He thinks you are just the man to buy my 
bay mare. 

L. No: I don’t want a horse. 


108 practical Dialogues, 


No. 4. But you haven’t seen this horse. 

L. (Excited.) But I tell you I don’t want a horse, no 
matter what it is. 

No. 4. (Excited.) I tell you, you do want such a 
horse as mine. It will do more for your health to 
ride every day over to and back than all the 
doctors in this town. 

L. I don’t doubt it; but really you must leave me; 
J am too busy to talk with you. 

No. 4. I was just going to—(knocking at the door) 
I say—(knocking; door opens; boy puts in head). 
Here, you clear out; this man is busy, don’t you see? 
(Points to sign.) 

Boy. Mr. Wilkins says he— 

No. 4. Clear out, I say; that is just what I’ve come 
for. (Exit boy.) Wilkins wants you to come right 
over to his office. Says he wants those papers right 
away. 

L. Oh, dear! I haven’t done a thing this morning. 
Well, well, Pll come right along. (Grabs up an arm 
jul of papers, and both exeunt.) 


% 8 


Getting Information. 


CHARACTERS: Jones, Robinson. 


j 

{Jones is dressed as a traveler, and has a carpet-bag in his hand. 
Robinson is in shirt sleeves, sits on a saw-horse with a saw in his 
hands. ‘The place is supposed to be a wood-yard near a railroad 
track. ‘There is a sign, ‘‘Robinson’s Wood-Yard.’’} 

(Enter Jones.) 

Jones. Good-morning. Can you tell me when the 
train comes along here? 

Robinson. Yes. 

J. But will you? that is the question. 

R. Yes, I reckon I will. 


Hetting Jnformuation, 109 


. Well, what time? 

. What time what, mister? 

What time does the train come along here? 

. I dunno. 

. You said you did. 

. No, I didn’t. 

. What did you say? 

. Said I’d tell you when it comes along, and if 
both of us are here when she comes I will, but I reckon 
you can see her as well as I can. 

J. You think you are very smart, don’t you? 

R. Not now. I used to be pretty smart till the 
rheumatism set in. 

J. Where do you live? 

R. I’m livin’ here now. 

J. Is this your home? 

R. No. 

J. Then you don’t live here. 

R. Well. I don’t die here, do I? ’Long’s I’m here 
I’m livin’ here. 

J. When the train comes do you suppose I can 
get on? 

R. Yes, if it stops. 

J. But that’s what I want to know. Will it stop? 

R. I can’t tell yer right now, although I’m always 
pleased to give a stranger any information in my 
power. 

J. When can you tell me? 

R. Tell you? When she gets here. 

J. Now say, old man, I don’t like to be made game 
of in this way. You may have nothing to do but sit 
around and spend your life in joking, but I’m in earnest. 
I have come a long distance to reach this road, and I 
want to be sure to leave on this train. You would do 
me a great favor by answering my questions in a 
straightforward manner. If the train is not likely to 
stop at this wood-yard, why, then, I must walk on until 


DNAS ASS 


110 Joractical Dialogues, 


I come to the station. Now give me your honest opin- 
ion. Do you think that the next train will stop here? 

R. Now, stranger, you can talk mighty fine, I must 
allow. I’d be a mighty bad man to hold back any 
news I’ve got about this matter, and, as I like your 
looks, Pll tell you all I know about these trains. 

J. I thank you most heartily, sir. 

R. I expect I know as much about these trains as 
any man that lives in this community. 

J. That’s what I supposed. 

R. And all I know about them stopping here I'll 
tell you. 

J. Well? 

R. Why, sometimes they stop and sometimes they 
don’t. That’s all I know. 

J. I’m half inclined to give you a thrashing. 

R. Better walk to the station, stranger, than to try 
that. The last man who tried it hasn’t been able to 
‘tend to business since. 

J. Well, how far is it to the next station? 

R. Which way; this way or that way? (Pointing.) 

J. Either way. 

R. Well, they are about the same distance. 

J. How far? 

R. Blame ’fi know. 

J. Vll be confounded if I stand this. Come over 
here and I’ll lick you. 

R. Well, if you want to whip me worse than I 
wanter be whipped, you had better come over here. 

J. I can do it and don’t you forget it. 

R. Well, if you do, I would not be apt to forget it. 

J. Vil try it anyway. (Taking off his coat.) 

R. Hold on. What is that in your pocket? 

J. (Takes out a flask or bottle.) Cider. 

R. Then there’s no use in fighting. (Takes a 
drink.) Train isn’t likely tostop here. (Takes another 
drink.) Closest station down this way. (Axother 


~ 


Attending a Lecture, IIr 


drink.) Three miles. (Another.) Make it better. 
Two and a half. (Stil another drink.) Go down 
there and those fellows will take you on a hand-car. 
Good-day, Cap’n. Wish you well. If you had 
announced your cider in the first place there would 
have been no necessity for arguing. I was awful 
Shirsty. (Whistle heard outside.) ‘'There’s the train 
whistle now. Better hurryup! Vllshow you. . (Hur- 
‘es off with him.) 


@ 8 


Attending a Lecture. 


By LEOLINE WATERMAN. 
CHARACTERS: Charlie and Willie. 


[Willie seated at desk reading a pictorial newspaper. Enter 
Charlie.] 


Charlie. Hullo, Will! what are you reading? 

Willie. A story about fighting Indians. Ill lend it 
to you when I get through. 

C. My father won’t let me read it. He says it will 
give me wrong ideas about life, and is a waste of time 
besides. 

W. It is splendid anyway. I read it all last even- 
ing. Father wanted me to go with him to hear Prof. 
Johnson lecture on ‘‘The Great West,” but I stayed 
and read this. Id like to go out there and shoot 
Indians. 

C. You missed a great treat. I went, and father 
said he would give me a quarter if I would give mother 
a good report of the lecture. She was sick and could 
not go with us. 

W. Did you do it? Wasn’t it awfully stupid? 

C. Stupid! No, I rather guess not. Do you know, 


112 practical Dialogues, 


Will, that the United States owns almost as much land 
west of San Francisco as it does east of it ? 

W. Nonsense! 

C. It’s a fact. Alaska is a big and wonderful 
country, Will. 

W. Did he lecture about Alaska? 
C. Yes, and about Washington Territory, Mon- 
tana, and Dakota. Didn’t you tell me the other day, 
Will, that you had an uncle living in Bangor, Maine? 

W. Yes, and he says it is bitterly cold there in the 
winter; but what has that to do with the lecture? 

C. Just this: Washington Territory is further 
north than Bangor, and yet it is as warm as Mary- 
land. 

W. How’s that? 

C. Warm ocean currents come from the Indian 
ocean and flow along our coast, making it warm and 
moist; beautiful peaches and other fruit, grapes and 
berries grow there. 

W. It must be a fine place to live. 

C. It is. There is a great inland sea, too, called 
Puget Sound. It is large enough to hold all the ship- 
ping in the world, and is so deep that ships often lose 
their anchors. The harbors out there are the finest 
in the world. 

W. Why, this is very interesting! What did he say 
about Montana? 

C. He said that a plow could make a furrow one 
hundred miles long without being lifted from the 
ground. 

W. My! 

C. Grass grows three feet high there and dries on 
the stalk. It is as good when a year old as when 
green, because there is so little rain. Cattle stay out 
all winter and are as fat as if kept in barns. 

W. But I thought you said the air was moist? 

C. Not in Montana. The high Cascade Moun- 


Attending a Lecture, 113 


tains stop the rain, and the wind that blows over them 
into Montana is warm but dry. It is so dry and brac- 
ing that people are more comfortable with the ther- 
mometer thirty degrees below zero, than we are in 
New York, where it is twelve above. 

W. Now tell me about the Dakotas. } 

C. Prof. Johnson said the Dakotas could supply the 
whole of Europe with wheat. The soil is much like 
that of Sardinia, which furnished Italy with food for 
2,000 years. 

W. I wish I had gone and heard it all myself. But 
you haven’t told me about Alaska, Charlie. 

C. Alaska is not entirely explored yet. We don’t 
know much about it. 100,000 seals come from there 
every year, and the timber is very fine indeed. Sticks 
are cut 120 feet long and 30 inches square; sometimes 
one tree yields as much wood as comes from a 2¢-acre 
lot in one of the New England States. 

W. Did he say anything about the Indians? 

C. Do you know that the men who write those Indian 
stories never saw one? ‘That is so. They sit up in 
little rooms in New York and write those stories out of 
their heads just to fool such boys as you and I, but 
they don’t catch me. I go in for facts. Why the 
Indians have farms and the children go to school. 

W. Vl go to the next lecture. 


(Bell rings.) 
C. It’s time to go to school—that’s the first bell. 
(Exeunt.) 
% 2 


A wonderful stream is the River Time 
As it runs through the realms of Tears, 
With a faultless rhythm and musical rhyme, 
And a broader sweep, and a surge sublime, 
As it blends with the ocean of years. 
BENJ. F. TAYLorR. 


114 Wractical Dialogues, 


Music in School. 
CHARACTERS: Clara, Bessie. 


SCENE I. 


Clara. Do you know what Jane Sterling says? 

Bessie. No; what does Jane Sterling say? / 

C. She says her father says that all this music in 
our schools is folly; that our time might much better 
be given to more arithmetic and grammar, but, as for 
singing or playing on the piano, it is a waste of time. 

B. Well, Mr. Sterling is one of the school committee, 
and I wouldn’t wonder if he is going to try to get 
music taken out of the course. 


C. I think he will. Jane says he will, and she hopes 
he will succeed. 

B. She never could sing, anyway, but I do hope he 
will not succeed. It seems to me that our singing 
class is the very best part of our school. 

C. Suppose we get up a petition to have music 
retained ? 

B. Do you suppose the girls would sign it ? 

C. Yes; and the boys, too. We all love music too 
much to lose this chance of learning how to sing. | 

B. But our opinions on the subject couldn’t have 
influence on a committee-man. He thinks he knows 
so much more what is best than we children. 

C. But all the teachers would sign the petition. 

B. Perhaps so; but I’ve been thinking that we 
might look up the opinions of some noted men on the 
subject of music, and put them in the petition, as a 
sort of argument. 

C. That’s a good idea—let’s do it. 

B. Well; you find as many as you can, and I will 
do the same. ‘Then we will read them over together 
and combine them! We have a cyclopedia at home. 


Music in School, 115 


2) 


. Will you write the petition? 
B. Oh! we'll write it together. (Exeunt.) 


ScENE II. 


(Enter Clara and Bessie with paper.) 
. Have you found any “opinions” on music? 
. So many! (Holding up a paper.) 
. And I have these. (Shows paper.) 
. Bovee says: ‘‘Music is the fourth great materia. 
want of our natures. First food, then raiment, then 
shelter, then music.” 

C. I found this from Martin Luther: “Music is 
one of the most magnificent and delightful presents 
God has given us.” 

B. The last words of Mirabeau were: “Let me 
die to the sounds of delicious music.” 

C. Here is a good one. ‘Music, of all the liberal 
arts, is that to which the legislator ought to give the 
greatest encouragement.” 

B. Who said that? 

C. Napoleon. 

B. Here is one from Shakespeare — 


BAB 


“The man that hath no music in himself, 
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.” 


C. Auerbach says: ‘‘ Music washes away from the 
soul the dust of every-day life.” 

B. Here is what Horace Walpole says: “Had I 
children my utmost endeavors would be to make them 
musicians.” 

C. I did not know so much had been said on the 
subject. 

B. Here is the petition: 

“'To the honorable School Committee: We, the 
undersigned, believe that music is of great importance 


116 practical Dialoques, 


in our school and that it not only makes us happy but 
helps form our characters. It is the opinion of a vast 
number of very great men and women that music is 
of very great value. We give the opinions of a few.” 
Here will follow the opinions we have on our papers. 
Then I go on to say: 

“Besides in all the best schools of the country, 
New York, Boston, Chicago, east, west, north and 
‘south, music is taught and practised. Certainly the 
schools of ought not to be behind in this matter. 
Therefore, we earnestly urge that music have a place 
in our school course.’”? What do you think of that? 

C. That is fine. Did you write that? 

B. Father helped me. 

C. i thought so. Now let us go and present it ty 
the committee. (Exeunt.) 


Che Wonderful Dortor. 117 


The Wonderful Doctor. 


CHARACTERS: the doctor, his assistant, and several per- 
sons, some as patients, and some as lookers-on. (There 
must be a good deal of action and movement. The doctor 
must be stunningly dressed and talk and act very impor- 
tant.) A boy comes in and hangs up a poster, a manila 
sheet that can be seen by the audience, on which is printed 
in large letters: 


TAKE NOTICE! 

Dr. ZEPHANIAH BILLBOODLE, G. C. F. D. P. 
The Great Curer of Disease, 
The Sure Destroyer of Pain, 

Will visit Greenville on 

MOTTO. 
“Let the sick get Well.” 
Office hours from 


8 A.M, to 8 P.M. 
At the Central Square. 


en the boy leaves several boys (as men in odd garments and 
hats) stroll in and read the poster and comment.]} 


A. ll get him to cure my rheumatism (limps). 

B. Guess Pll bring Maria and have him cure her 
neuralgia. 

C. Why, it’s to-day that he comes here. 

D. Yes, and this is the very spot. 

EH. (Looks.) There’s a team of horses coming up the 
road. 

(Noise and voices outside; ‘‘Get out of the way; the 
horses will run over you.” “Well, well, ain't that @ 
curious man!” ‘* Stand aside, boys.’’) 


118 Practical Dialogues. 


A tall man with a silk hat and gold-headed cane, car- 
rying a large hand bag enters; he is attended by an- 
other who carries a hand bag and a folding table; - 
the latter opens the table; another brings some fold- 
ing chairs; the doctor steps up on a platform at one 
side of the stage. A B.C. D, E are joined by others 
who come in after the doctor He points to the chairs 
and says, ‘Take seats. gentlemen.” ‘These sit on 
folding chairs and face him. The doctor addresses 
them: 

Doctor. I am the celebrated Doctor Billboodle and I 
cure more people with Golden Magic Ointment, and 
my All-Healing Pills than all the other doctors put 
together. (Opens hand bag and takes out a botile.) 
That Golden Magic Ointment is the most wonderful 
medicine ever made by human hands. I’m the only 
one that can make it. The secret was obtained from 
the most skilful doctor in Germany and it contains 
more than a hundred different roots and herbs. ‘They 
are all put into the genuine rock oil and, remember, 
that is only found out in my farm in Seneca county, 
New York. One dollar a bottle. 

(Takes up a small tin or wooden box.) ‘That con- 
tains my All-Healing Pills, the most wonderful pills 
ever seen. I’ve sold a hundred thousand boxes; 
some buy them by the dozen; some take them every 
day; can’t hurt you. Twenty-five cents a box. No 
one can imagine what wonderful cures I have made 
with these two medicines. Every day I do something 
that seems almost impossible. Yesterday I was 
going by a house back here twenty miles or so, and 
it was a lonely, weather-beaten place; the fences 
were down and the windows broken, and there on the 
piazza sat an old man with white hair and the tears 
rolling down his cheeks. It was a,sad sight. 

Sez I, ‘*Old man, why do you cry?” 

Sez he, **Coz I have set here more’n forty years, 


Che Wonderful Doctor. 119 


and I’ll never be any better. I’ve got rheumatics 
dreadfui, and can’t work on my farm, and every- 
thing’s going to rack and ruin.” 

And the tears just rolled down his cheeks. 

Sez I, ‘Old man, I can cure you.” 

Sez he, ‘No, you can’t. Ive tried hundreds of 
doctors and spent hundreds of dollars, and drunk 
bottles and bottles of medicines. No one can cure 
me.” 

And the tears just rolled down his cheeks. 

And his wife came in and she said he couldn’t be 
cured and it was no use to try, and that the farm 
would be sold and they would all go to the poor house 
and live on corn meal and potatoes. And this made 
the old man feel bad and the tears rolled down his 
cheeks still more. 

Then I took out a bottle of my Golden Ointment 
and [I rubbed the old man’s joints with it and he 
stopped crying. Then I gave him one of my All- 
Healing Pills and he began to smile. In a few min- 
utes he lifted up one of his arms (shows)—hadn’t done 
that before in forty years; then he lifted up the other 
arm—hadn’t done that in forty years; then he lifted 
up his right leg—hadn’t done that before in forty 
years; then up came the left leg—hadn’t done that 
before in forty years. Then he danced around like a 
young colt. Sez he, ‘‘ Doctor, you’ve made me a new 
man; I shan’t have to go to the poor house and live 
on corn meal; J’ll stay here and work my farm again; 
Y’ll fix up this house and make it just as nice as it 
used to be, ’fore I got the rheumatics.”’ 

He bought six boxes of the Golden Ointment (six 
boitles for five dollars), and six boxes of the All-Healing 
Pills (stx boxes for a dollar), and I got back into my 
carriage and drove on. I go all over the country doing 
cures like that. 

T am ready to give an exhibition of the value of the 


120 Prartiral Dialogues. 


Golden Magic Ointment and the All-Healing Pills. 
Let the afflicted come forward; there will be no charge. 
(These cases will all have been planned out beforehand 
so that a cure will seem to have been made. At each 
““cure”’ the doctor’s audience will scem to be delighted 
and applaud.) 

: (A man hobbles forward.) 

F. Doctor, one of my legs is shorter than the other; 
I’m afraid you cannot help me. 

Doctor. My friend, the Golden Magic Ointment will 
fetch that leg down. (Measures with a tape line.) “ Twe 
inches short. (Has him stand on a stool or box.\ 
Take one of the All-Healing Pills first; (¢0 attendant) 
now rub his leg with the Golden Magic Ointment. 
(Stands over him.) ‘There, you can feel it is growing 
longer, can’t you? 

F. I think I do (stamps his foot down). Yes, it’s 
about as long as the other. 

Doctor. Of course; the Golden Magic Ointment is 
sure to doit. It may take a few days to complete the 
job. But he’s a cured man. (Great applause and 
talking.) ‘‘Wonderful.”” “Who would believe it!” 
“See him walk.” “Must be a great medicine,” etc., 
etc. (In this case one of the shoes will have had a 
block in the heel which will be taken out by the attendant.) 

Doctor. Any one else here that wants the help that’s 
in the Magic Ointment? (Man with bald head comes 
jorward.) 

G. You see I haven’t a hair on my head, Doctor. 
Will your Magic Ointment give me a good head of 
hair? If so, put it on. 

Doctor. It certainly will. What kind of hair do you 
want, black, brown, or golden? 

G. I want black hair. 

Doctor. Very well. (To attendant.) Put him on 
the stool where all can see him and give him one of 
the All-Healing Pills from box No. 3 and rub his head 


Che Wonderful Dortar. 121 


with the Golden Magic Ointment; rub it around the 
same way the hands of a watch go, thus (makes move- 
ment). You can almost see the hair start. Now look 
at that head of hair; black as night; it will grow 
longer in a day or two. (In this case a pupil with 
black hair is chosen; it is cut short and a skull cap 
fitted; this can be bought or made; the attendant slips 
off the skull cap in his manipulations, unseen by the 
audience.) 

G. (Feels of his hair and uses a hand mirror.) Why, 
that’s just what I wanted. I’m very much obliged to 
you, Doctor. I can go courting now. 

Doctor. Of course, you can; and the girl will be 
sure to have you. 

(Great applause by audience. ‘‘That’s wonderjul.” 
“Great stuff, that ointment.” “I’m going to buy some 
of that for grandpa’s head,” etc.; they talk and gesticu- 
late.) 

Doctor. Now you can all see the wonderful virtues 
of the All-Healing Pills and the Golden Magic Oint- 
ment. Wherever they go they bring life, health, 
and joy. There was a time when the world was full 
of trouble. Men labored in the fields and came home 
sorrowful and sad. Women toiled over their wash- 
tubs and groaned with anxiety and distress. Chil- 
dren sat by the roadside and left their playthings 
untouched. Old men and women sat in their arm- 
chairs, but not to rest; they, too, were unhappy and 
miserable. Dark clouds rose on the horizon and 
spread all over the firmament. Lightnings flashed; 
thunders rolled; the rain came down in torrents. 
The trees ceased to bear fruit. ‘The crops were un- 
gathered, for man was in doubt, and distress was all 
over the land. It was at this most critical time that 
relief became most necessary. Thestorm at last ceased. 
There was an expectation of improvement on every 
countenance. The children began feebly to smile and 


122 Prartical Dialogues. 


pick up playthings. The old men raised their sunken 
heads. The women began to tie up their hair with 
ribbons. and the men to exhibit courage once more. 
Deliverance was indeed expected, but from whence? 
Who was to bring it? 

At this moment the sound of a bugle was heard far 
away on the clear air. It was an inspiring sound. It 
filled all hearts with new hopes. ‘They strained their 
eyes to see whence that bugle note of joy had come. 
Far in the distance a horseman was seen approaching’ 
he bore a white banner in his hand and ever and anon 
he blew an inspiring note on his bugle. 

The children rose from their seats on the door steps; 
the old men leaned forward in their chairs; the men 
and women came to the windows; all work was sus- 
pended; all eyes were turned to gaze on the approach- 
ing messenger of deliverance. He drew nearer and 
nearer. More and more plainly it could be seen that 
an inscription was upon the banner he carried in his 
right hand. ‘They strained their eyes to read it. At 
last the sound of the footfalls of his horse could be 
heard. ‘The lineaments of the horseman’s face could 
be seen and the words on his banner read. He passed 
up the village street in full view of the people; he 
turned his banner to one side and then to the other 
and they all pronounced the words together 


Dr. Zephaniah Billboodle, 
Golden Magic Ointment, and 
All-Healing Pills, 


and since then the world has been happy and the people 
full of courage. 

Yes, my afflicted friends, I have come to cure your 
diseases. For one dollar you-can have a bottle of the 
Magic Golden Ointment, for twenty-five cents a box 
of the All-Healing Pills. 

Is there any one else that I can serve? 


Che Wonderful Doctor. 123 


A man with a thin chest comes forward. 

No. 7. You see, Doctor, I have weak lungs; I want 
to have a good, strong, full chest. 

Doctor. Such as mine, eh? Well, sir, we'll fix up 
your case in short order. (To attendant.) Give him 
one of the All-Healing Pills and rub him with oint- 
ment from box No. 5. (He stands on the stool and the 
attendant slyly stuffs him with cotion.) ‘There, sir, you 
have begun to fill out already. Look at him. Is not 
this a wonderful medicine? Of course, it is. (Much 
talking and applause. “Give me a bottle.’ “I want 
two of them,” etc., etc. They press up and get botiles.) 
Who else will have a bottle? Yes, sir, one dollar a 
bottle; six bottles for five dollars. Yes, sir, here’s a 
bottle. (Here a number of pupils should come in and 
demand, “I want one of those boxes of Pills,” etc. 
These should be oddly dressed; all sorts of old-fashioned 
clothes and hats and bonnets being in use, some with 
canes and some umbrellas. This should be made as 
amusing as possible. By having a screen at the back 
of the stage these can march behind it, throw off hats or 
bonnets and pui on others and come out again. 

Meanwhile the doctor 1s haranguing and selling. 
The pupils can hand back the bottles they get so that 
only a dozen will be needed. Pieces of tin can be used 
jor silver and a strip of paper jor the bills.) 

Doctor. You cannot invest your money better than 
to own a bottle of the Golden Magic Ointment. Yes,’ 
sir; one dollar; thank you. Who else will have a 
bottle? Remember I shall leave here in a few hours 
and you cannot buy this but of me, etc., etc. 

(Noise and confusion; the doctor stops talking. ‘‘I’m 
spout for life; look at me,” etc. They gather around 
a man who comes into the center. He has a red mus- 
tache.) 

H. Look at me. I bought a bottle, yesterday, of 
the Magic Golden Ointment and put it on to make a 


124 Prartical Dialogues. 


black mustache grow, and look at the ugly red thing, 
ugh! 

"(They talk. “‘Ii’s a burning shame.” “See his 
nice black hairy and a red mustache.” ‘Why, it’s cow’s 
hair.’ “‘No, 1’s camel’s hair.” “It’s like our dog 
Bunkum.” ‘‘Ha, ha, Jerry, youve got bitten this 
time.” ‘‘What are you going to do?’’) 

H. I’ve come ten miles to settle this matter. He’s 
got to pay for that. Take your old ointment. (A 
crash of glass 1s heard; a botile can be dashed into a box 
where there is a brick to make the sound.) 

(The doctor has meanwhile shown signs of jear and 
has gathered his money and put it into the hand 
bag.) 

Doctor. You got the wrong kind; that must have 
been a bottle I fixed for a man who wanted red hair. 
My man here must have given you that bottle by 
mistake. JI am real sorry. Here’s your dollar back. 

HT. I don’t care for your dollar; I want to get rid of 
this terrible red mustache. Can’t you stop its growing? 
Can’t you make a black one of it? 

Doctor. No. You will always have a red mus- 
tache, I am sorry to say. The Magic Golden Oint- 
ment will make things grow but not stop growing. 
Very sorry, sir. 

(H. turns around and a longer red mustache ts 
slipped on—i} possible two inches long. Hf e turns 
back and talks and gesticulates.) 

H. Look at me, I am an object of derision and I 
shall be laughed at all my life. I shall not stand it. 
I demand this nuisance to be removed. ‘Take it off. 
It is growing longer every minute. (Yells.) 

(““Oh, Jerry, how junny you look.” “Mary Jane 
wont know you now,’ etc.) 

(Confusion increases. H. turns around and a longer 
mustache is put on. He turns back.) 

HT, Just as I expected. It’s growing longer every 


Che Wonderful Dortor. 125 
minute. (Throws his hai on the floor.) Who will 
help me? I shall go crazy! 

(‘‘“Why, Jerry, yowll step on your mustache next.” 
“They ll want you at the museum.) 

The doctor now slips out. His disappearance is 
not observed at first. 

They jeer at Jerry. Finally one says: ‘‘The doctor 
has gone.” Jerry hurries and others follow him. 
“Catch him; catch him.” ‘There he goes.” ‘He’s 
getting into his wagon.”’ Cracking of a whip; ‘“‘ whoa;” 
and the incidents of a departure are heard. ‘Catch 
him, Jerry.” ‘“He’s gone.” ‘Go and show your 
folks your mustache.” ‘How long is it now?” etc., 
etc. “He’s gone! He’s gone.” 


126 Practical Pialngues. 


Troubles Everywhere. 


CHARACTERS: Traveler, Woman, Josiah Jones, Brown, 
Smith, Osborne, Mr. H., Mr. B., Mr. M., Mr. W., Mr. L., 
Nos. 1, 2, and 3. 

[This must be handled very naturally, the characters shouid be 
oddly dressed and talk like country people. The woman has on a 


sunbonnet and with dustpan and broom seems to be busy when the 
traveler appears.] 


SCENE I, 


Traveler. 1 say, my good woman,— 

Woman. Sakes alive!—how you scairt me! I thought 
you might be one of those pesky robbers that’s been 
agoing ’round here with pistols and getting people’s 
money. 

T. What! do you have robbers here in this part of 
the country? I have been thinking of buying a piece 
of land near here; seems to be pretty good land. But 
I don’t want to live where there are robbers. Why, 
up in Vermont where I come from we don’t lock our . 
doors nights. 

W. We lock ’em as tight as we can and drive a nail 
over all our windows and keep a dog, too. (Man 
enters.) I’m just telling this man about the robbers. 
You know all about them, Josiah. 

J. Well, I don’t know as there’s many of them here 
just now. Used to be; quite a number have been 
shot. 

T. I was told this was a good country to settle in. 

J. So it is; I like it. 

I’. But robbers—man alive! 

J. Those don’t come around here much; they are 
over in Brown county; pretty thick over there. 

W. We have ’em here, too—why, they robbed Jeff 
Arnold night before last and took away all the blankets 
and sheets Mrs. Arnold had. She said they carried 
off a wagon load of things. 


Crouhles Everywhere. 127 


J. Oh! well, there will be some queer goings-on in 
_ every neighborhood. That’s only one— 

W. Old Bill Spalding went by here yesterday and 
said they’d been down to Hoyt’s, under the hill, and 
had taken two firkins of butter the night before. 

T. Why, you must have a dreadfully depraved 
community here; up in Vermont they’s nobody in 
the jail, and the State prison isn’t half full. 

J. We don’t have many in our jail— 

W. That’s because you don’t catch the thieves. 
Fact is, Josiah, you are afraid to catch those rascals. 

J. You see, stranger, we have such pesky smart 
lawyers, that when we catch ’em they get clear. 

W. They steal enough to be able to hire smart 
lawyers—that’s the way it is. 

J. You mustn’t be discouraged from buying land 
here, stranger. ‘There’s a mighty good piece up the 
road here about a mile. 

W. That’s where a man was shot by a robber—and 
* his wife had to move away. 

T. Why you couldn’t get my wife inside of the 
county if she’d heard what you’ve told me. I wouldn’t 
take a farm here as a gift. 

J. Oh, if you have a good gun or two it’s all right! 

W. Now, Josiah, you know that man that was killed 
had two guns— 

J. Yes, but he didn’t shoot quick enough. I ain’t 
afraid of their coming here. 

T. Well, Pll go to some other State. I take the 
right hand road for Boonton ? 

J. Yes, but look out for the big swamp-hole; it’s a 
mean one. 

W. You go and show him or he'll get lost. (Exit J. 
and T.) It’s too bad that we have such goings-on in 
this country. It didn’t use to be so. 

(Notse.) I wonder what that is? It may be the 
cat: a robber would make somé suck noise. (Exit; 


128 raciicval Dialugues. 


outside she says.) Oh, it’s you, Josiah! Well, lock up 
everything tight. 


ScENE II. 


(Two men lounging on a bench.) 

Traveler. Good day, friends, you seem to have a 
nice country here. 

Janes. We have a fine country; there’s wood plenty, 
a rich soil, and water in abundance. 

T. I just come. from Smith county—that’s a good 
country too, but they have too many robbers to suit 
me. 

Brown. Robbers! Thick as fleas down there. 

T. You don’t have any here? 

Jones. What? robbers? No, sir; we give them 
Hail Columbia when they come; don’t have any 
judge or jury; just shoot, and so they stay away. 
When was the last robbery, Bill? 

Brown. About three years ago. Yes, stranger, 
here’s the place to settle. (Enter No. 3.) There’sa 
farm about a mile back for sale cheap. Didn’t you 
see it? Big pond one side. 

T. What! that unpainted house, and the barn door 
off its hinges? Why it looks wet and malarious down 
there. Is there any malaria round here? 

3. No, not here; they did have it powerful down at 
Hollinses’, that’s the place you refer to. That man 
used to shake so his hat wouldn’t stay on. They 
don’t have any shakes around here, do they, Bill? 

1. Well, no. Jones said he had a little touch last 
week and was laid up three or four days, but folks 
here are all pretty well. 

2. Of course, some people will have shakes no 
matter where they live. Now, there’s Pete Wilkins: 
he went to Chicago and the first letter his folks gn 
told about his having malaria—that’s what they callit 
in the cities. 


Oroubles Everywhere. 129 


3. He’d have shakes anywhere, I guess. This is a 
healthy country, but you have got to take some quinine 
once in a while. We buy it by the bottle and take 
some every morning. 

T. You do! Why up in Vermont the druggists 
would starve if they depended on selling quinine. I 
dread the shakes, as you call them. My brother-in- 
law went to Arkansas and lived a spell and came 
back as yellow as saffron; said he’d had the shakes. 
My wife told me not to buy where there was any 
malaria. 

1. There ain’t any malaria right here; some people 
live in swamps and get malaria; but why live in a 
swamp, I say. I never have malaria much and I’ve 
been here ten years. 

2. You had it last Fourth of July so you couldn’t 
go to the fireworks. 

1. That! Why I’d been eating too many dried 
apple pies; I was all well in a day or two. You’re 
going to be sick with something, no matter where you 
are; they take sick and die up in Vermont, don’t they 
stranger? 

T. Yes, they’re sick some, but there’s enough to 
be sick with without having malaria. 

3. There’s another farm for sale about a mile 
ahead; you could buy that cheap. 

3. What! Toner’s? ‘Toner never was too well; he 
took plenty of quinine, too. Guess he had malaria 
afore he came here. But malaria don’t kill a man, 
that is, very often. ’Taint half so bad as cholera. 
My son-in-law went to Manila, and he said the cholera 
was worse than anything we have here. 

1. Yes, and Bill Davis’s son went to Havana, and 
there they have yellow fever the year round. 

3. No, malaria ain’t so bad as them diseases. 

T. There seems to be a good many farms along 
here for sale. How is that? 


130 Practical Dialogues. 


3. Some people give up too easy; get sick and clear 
out. We’ve come to stay, haven’t we, ‘Tom? 

2. Yes, sir; every time. 

T. Well, I think T’ll move along; there must be 
some place where there isn’t robbers nor malaria. | 

1. There’ll be something else then the matter. I’d 
rather have malaria than thieves. 

T. How far to Bington? 

2. Oh, a matter of seven miles. 

T. Good day. (Ewxit.) 

All. Good day. 

1. (Laughs.) Guess he’ll find serious things in 
Bington. Hey, boys! (Exeunt.) 


ScENE ITI. 


(The traveler comes in with several persons, talking.) 


Mr. M. Mr. Osborne has been speaking to me 
concerning the purchaser of land in our part of the 
country. He says some one has told him that a good 
many are killed here by being bit by tarantulas. I 
have told him I have never known of a single case 
where a tarantula bite caused death. Did you ever 
hear of one, Mr. Hall? 

Mr. H. Well, I can’t say as I ever saw a person 
die of a tarantula’s bite, but there was my wife’s brother; 
he was a surveyor, and when he was surveying up in 
Oxford, about six miles from this place he got bit and 
in spite of everything he died. You must have heard 
of it, Colonel, at the time. They tried whiskey and 
all kinds of remedies, put it was of no use. 

M. Oh, well!—one case in, let me see, six years. 
That might happen anywhere; he might have been 
killed in some other way. That shows how little 
truth there is in these stories about tarantula bites. 
(Looks around.) Now there’s Mr. Billings; he’s been 
here longer than any of us; he ought to know. 


Groubles Everpinhere. | 13! 


Mr. B. Well (drawls), there is tarantulas here, we 
don’t deny it; and people do get bit. 

‘“M. Of course, of course; Texas wouldn’t be Texas, 
if it didn’t have tarantulas. They don’t have them 
up in your country, do they, Mr. Osborne? 

T. No, sir; Oh! no, not a sign of one. 

Mr. B. People have to be careful. My niece let 
her youngest child out in the dooryard last spring 
before I had been searching round, and one of the 
mean things bit him and he died before we fairly 
knew what was the matter. The doctor said it was 
a tarantula bite. 

M. Well, yes, there will be occasional cases like that. 
It doesn’t seem to be positive that it was caused by 
a tarantula either. (Turns to another.) You never 
had any trouble with ’em did you, Walker? 

W. No, we never seen any of the pizen things. 
But about a year ago when my wife was visiting at 
Major Smith’s, the major came rushing home and 
said he’d been bit by a tarantula, and they dosed him 
with whiskey all night. It gave my wife a great 
shock. 

Mr. Wanser. Possibly the major didn’t mind the 
tarantula so long as whiskey could be had free. (All 
gaugh.) The only case I ever knew just here was an 
old colored woman who, when hanging out clothes 
she’d washed for Mrs. Griggs, was bit. I’ve heard 
of a good many up Logan way—they have ’em there, 
you know. 

M. Oh, a stray nigger now and then, I dare say, but 
as for there being many cases about here, all I’ve got 
to say, I never heard of them. We who live here 
know there’s more nonsense than sense in the talk 
about tarantulas. 

L. That’s a fact, Colonel. I was thinking as I set 
here of the time my black Wash got bit. What a 
noise he made and how all the other darkies howled. 


132 | Practical Dialogues. 


They all said Wash would die and so he did. They 
didn’t seem to be able to cure a good square bite. 
That was the only fatal case right in my family, as I 
may say. I hear of cases once in a while. People 
are careless. I take pains to wear good thick boots. 
Wash was barefoot. 

M.Um-m. You see, Mr. Osborne, the general 
opinion is that this talk about tarantulas is, most of 
it, guesswork and fancy. Where one is bit, why a 
hundred and one thousand ain’t bit, you see. 

L. What land has he looked at? Johnson’s? 

M. Yes, the piece up next to Burger’s. 

W. Wasn’t that the place where Pilger’s son got 
such a close call about three months ago? Seems to 
me it was. “But probably, Mr. Osborne, there isn’t a 
tarantula within a mile of the place now. 

O. I guess Tl give up the idea of buying that 
piece; if my wife came here and heard there was a 
tarantula, she wouldn’t stay over night. She can’t 
abide even a mosquito. I thank you for your trouble 
in showing me the land. ‘The train, I believe, is due 
in twenty minutes. They all rise. 

M. You want us to drink to a successful return to 
Vermont. (All laugh.) 

O. Certainly. (Exeunt talking and “Sure Success 
to Osborne,” ‘Pleasant journey home are heard.”’) 


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Comic Dialogues | 
By Joha R. Dennis 

‘fhis is the something ‘‘real funny,” which every boy and girl 
prefers, but there is nothing coarse in it. It is suitable for school or. 
church use anywhere. The dialogues are arranged for from two toa 
dozen or more children. A few, like ‘‘ Vilikens”’ and “‘ The Heade 
less Horseman,” employ music. ‘Our Lysander”’ is a real little. 
play. Some ofthe dialoguesare: Innocents Abroad, Artist’s Dream, 
Aunt Dinah and Columbus, Taking the Census, Strictly Confiden- 
fial, etc. 


Humorous Dialogues and Dramas 
By Charles C. Shoemaker 


If there is anything more enjoyable than a humorous reading or 
recitation it is a keen, pointed, humorous dialogue. Thecompiler, 
with the largest resources and widest experience in literature for 
entertainment purposes, has produced one of the rarest, brightest, 
jolliest books of mirth-provoking dialogues ever published. Much 

of the matter was prepared especially forthis work. The dialogues 
are adapted to old and young of both sexes, and while often keenly 
witty, are wholly free from coarseness and vulgarity, 


Classic Dialogues and Diamas 
By Mrs. J. W. Shoemaker 

This unique work will prove not only interesting and profitable 
for purposes of public and social entertainment, but also instruct- 
ive and valuable for private reading and study. The book com- 
prises popular seenes judiciously selected from the plays of Shakes- 
peare, Sheridan, Bulwer, Schiller, and other dramatists, and each: 
dialogue is so arranged as to be complete in itself. Many of the 
exercises may be given as readingsor recitals, and will prove 
acceptable to audiences of the highest culture and refinement, 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA 


Entertainment Books tor Yeung Peoplg) 


Sterling Dialogues 
By William M. Clark 


The dialogues comprising this volume have been ehosen from « 
“arge store of material. The contributions are from the pens of 
the most gifted writers in this field of literuture, and the topics are 
so varied and comprehensive that they are readily adapted to the 
meeds of Schools, Academies, and Literary Societies. They are. 
especially suited for Social Gatherings and Home Amusement, aa 
the staging required ts simple and easily obtained. 


Model Dialogues 


By William M. Clark 


The dialogues comprising this collection have been contributed 
by over thirty of America’s best writers in this field of literature. 
They represent every variety of sentiment and emotion, from the 
extremely humorous to the pathetic. Every dialogue is full of life 
and action ; the subjects are well chosen, and are so varied as to 
suit ll grades of performers. The book is especially adapted for 
School Exhibitions, Literary Societies, and Sunday-school and 
Social Gatherings. 


Standard Dialogues 


By Rev. Alexander Clark, A. M. 


‘Te author’s name is a guaranty of the excellence of tims book, 
His long experience as a lecturer before Teachers’ Institutes, and 
his close study of the teachers’ needs, his lofty ideals of edueation 
and of life, his refinement of taste, diversity of attainment, and 
versatility of expression, all combine to qualify him in an eminent 
degree for the preparation of such a volume. For both teacher 
and entertainer this book has special points of merit. as the diar, 
fogues are interesting as well as iastructive. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA 


‘Entertainment Books for Young People 


Schoolday Dialogues 
By Rev. Alexander Clark, A. Me 


This book of dialogues, prepared for use in School Enters 
tainments, furnishes great diversity of sentiment and diction. 
Although for the most part composed of serious or pathetic subject+ 
matter, there will be found many humorous dialogues and much 
good material for the little folks, as well as for the older ones, 
The staging and costuming are of the simplest character, and are 
so fully described as to make the task of preparation quite easy, 
even for the novice. 


Popular Dialogues 
By Phineas Garrett 


‘The author’s large experience in the Entertainmentand Amuse- 
ment field has qualified him for the preparation of « book of 
unusual merit. No work of this kind more fully meets the popu- 
lar demand for interesting and refined entertainment. In this 
collection will be found dialogues to suit every occasion, either for 
public entertainment or for a social evening at home. Humor and 
pathos are pleasantly blended, and provision is made for the 
wants of the young and the old, the grave and the gay, thee pr 
rienced “nd the inexperienced. 


Excelsior Dialogues 
By Phineas Garrett 


This book is composed of original dialogues and colloquies 
designed for students in Schools and Academies, and prepared 
expressly for this work by a corps of professional teachers and 
writers. Comedy and tragedy are provided in due proportion, 
and the moral tone of the work is of the highest order. Teachers 
will here find just the material for which they have been search- 
ing, something with plot enough to hold the attention and that 
will command the best efforts of the older pupils. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
925-27 FILRERT STREET PHILADELPHIA 


“Entertainment Books for Young Peof{.é 


Fancy Drills and Marches 


By Alice M. Kellogg 

Mhildren enjoy drills, and this is the most successful drill book 
ever published. It has more than fifty new ideas—drills, marches, 
motion songs and action pieces. Among them area Sifter Drill, 
‘Ribbon March with Grouping and Posing, Pink Rose Drill, Christ- 
mas Tree Drill, Delsarte Children, Zouave Drill, Wreath Drill 
and March, Glove Drill, Tambourine Drill, March of the Red, 
White and Blue. Teachers will be especially pleased with the 
eare given to the exercises for the smaller children. A.) of the 
drills are fully illustrated. 


Ideal Drilly 
By Marguerite W. Morton 


This book contains a collection of entirely new and original 
drills, into which are introduced many unique and effective 
features. The fullest descriptions are given for the successful pro- 
duction of the drills, and to this end nearly 100 diagrams have 
been inserted showing the different movements. Everything is 
made so clear that anyone can use the drills without the slightest 
difficulty. Among the more popular and pleasing drills are: The 
_ Brownie, Taper, Maypole, Rainbow, Dumb-bell, Butterfly, Sword- 
Flower, Ring, Scarf, Flag, and Swing Song and Drill. 


Eureka Entertainments 


‘Phe title of this volume expresses in a nutshell the characuer of 
its contents. The weary searcher after material for any kind of 
entertainment will, upon examination of this book, at once 
exclaim, ‘“‘Ihave found it.’? Here is just what is wanted for use 
in uay-school, Sunday-school, at church socials, teas, and othet 
festivals, for parlor or fireside amusement, in fact, for all kinds of 
school or home, public or private entertainments. The work is 
characterized by freshness and originality throughout. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA 


Entertainment Books for Young People 


Special Day Exercises 


By Amos M. Kellogg 

Almost every week in the school year has its birthday of a 
national hero or a great writer. Washington, Michael Angelo, 
Shakespeare, Longfellow, Holmes, Browning and Emerson are 
among those the children learn to know from this book. The holi- 
days, Easter, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Memorial Day are not for- 
gotten; and in between are many happy suggestions for tree plant 
ing, for bird and flower lessons, and debates. 


Christmas Selections 
By Rosamond Livingstone McNaught 


For Readings and Recitations 

Sunday schools, day schools, the home circle, all demand ma- 
terial for Christmas entertainments, and all want something new 
and appropriate. This book contains just what is wanted. Every 
piece is absolutely new, not a single one having previously been 
published in any book. It contains recitations, in prose and 
poetry, for every conceivable kind of public or private entertain- 
ment at Christmas time. 


Holiday Selections 
By Sara Sigourney Rice 
For Readings and Recitations 

The selections in this volume are adapted to all the different 
holidays of the year and are classified accordingly. Fully half of 
the pieces are for Christmas, but ample provision is also made for 
New Year’s, St. Valentine’s Day, Washington’s Birthday, Easter, 
Arbor Day, Decoration Day, Fourth of July, and Thanksgiving. 
The pieces are unusually bright, and the variety under each holi- 
day will afford the fullest opportunity for a satisfactory choice; 
the older students and the little ones alike will find something 
suited to thei different degrees of ability. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 


Entertainment Rooks for Young People 


Holiday Entertainments 

By Charles C. Shoemaker 
Absolutely new and original. There are few things more popu- 
lar during the holiday season than Entertainments and Exhibi- 
tions, and there is scarcely anything more difficult to procure than 
new and meritorious material appropriate for such occasions. 
This book is made up of short dramas, dialogues, tableaux, 
recitations, etc., introducing many novel features that give the 
spice and sparkle so desirable for such occasions. It is adapted to 
the full round of holidays, containing features especially prepared 
for Christmas, New Year’s, Washington’s Birthday, Easter, Deco- 

ration Day, Fourth of July, and Thanksgiving. 


4 


Spring and Summer School 
Celebrationy 


By Alice M. Kellogg 

This book shows how to capture “all outdoors’’ for the school 
room. Every warm weather holiday, including May Day, 
Memorial Day, Closing Day, is represented; for each the book 
offers from ten to thirty new suggestions. Tableaux, pantomimes, 
recitations, marches, drills, songs and special programs, provide 
exactly the right kind of material for Spring exercises of any sort. 
The drills and action pieces are fully illustrated. Everything in 
the book has been especially edited and arranged for it. 


Select Speeches for Declamation 


By John H. Bechtel 

This book contains a large number of short prose pieces 
chosen from the leading writers and speakers of all ages and 
nations, and admirably adapted for use by collegemen. Only the 
very best, from a large store of choice material, was selected for 
this work. The names of Demosthenes, Livy, Kossuth, Bona- 
parte, Chatham, Burke, Macaulay, Hugo, Gladstone, Washington, 
Jefferson, Garfield, Harrison, Webster, Everett, Phillips, Curtis, 
Blaine, Beecher, Grady, Cleveland, McKinley, and Depew may 
serve to suggest the standard o-° the selections. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 


Entertainment Books for Young People 


Temperance Selections 
By John H. Bechtel 


For Readings and Recitations 

These selections have been taken from the utterances of pulpit 
orators, from the speeches of political leaders, and from the pens 
of gifted poets. They depict the life of the drunkard, point out 
the first beginnings of vice, and illustrate the growth of the habit 
‘as one cup after another is sipped amid the pleasures and gayeties 
of social life. This volume appeals to human intelligence, and 
speaks words of truth and wisdom that cannot be gainsaid. 


Sunday-School Selections 
By John H. Bechtel 


For Readings and Recitations 

This volume contains about 150 selections of unusual merit. 
Among them something will be found adapted to every occasion 
aid condition where a choice reading or recitation may be wanted. 
Suitable provision has been made for the Church Social, the Sun- 
day-school Concert, Teachers’ Gatherings, Christian Endeavor 
Societies, Anniversary occasions, and every assemblage of a relig- 
ious or spiritual character. Besides its value for readings and 
recitations, the pastor will find much in it to adorn his sermon, 
and the panbeintendent poiuts by which to illustrate the Sunday- 
school lesson 


Sunday-School Entertainments 


All new and original. The demand for a book of pleasing and 
appropriate Sunday-school entertainments is here supplied. The 
articles are largely in the nature of dialogues, tableaux, recita- 
tions, concert pieces, motion songs, dramatized Bible stories, and 
responsive exercises, all based upon or illustrating some Biblical 
truth. Special care has been taken to make provision for such 
occasions as Christmas, New Year’s, Easter, Thanksgiving, and 
the full round of celebrations, so that no time or season is with- 
out a subject-. ~ 


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Entertainment Books for Young People 


Money Making Entertainments 
By Lizzie J. Rook and Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow 


There is no better way to raise money for church, school, or be- 
nevyolent purposes than by means of entertainments. This unique 
volume contains a great abundance of new and original material 
especially prepared for such occasions by two writers of wide ex- 
perience in this line of work. In addition to the money making 
features there is also a large variety of entertainments and socials 
for home use. 


Tableaux, Charades, and Pantomimes 


This attractive volume is adapted alike to Parlor Entertain- 
ments, School and Church Exhibitions, and for use onthe Amateur 
Stage. The department of Tableaux isunusually complete. Only 
such scenes as can be produced with the smallest number cf 
auxiliaries have been selected. Tableaux, with readings from 
standard authors, forma very attractive feature, as do also the 
statuary scenes. The volume has recently been enlarged by the 
addition of a number of new and original charades, which add 
greatly to the attractiveness of the book. 


School and Parlor Comedies 


By B. L. C. Griffith 


The dialogue is so spirited that the lines almost play themselves, 
so thatthe plays are sure to be acceptable even in the hands of 
only fairly competent performers. The situations are ingenious, 
and the plots are such as command the attention of an audience at 
the outset and hold it until the last line is given. The plays differ 
widely in character, thus affording an unusual variety. The 
scenery required in any instance is not difficult and may be easily 
arranged in the class room or in the private parlor. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA 


‘Entertainment Books for Young People 


Monologues and Novelties 


By B. L. C. Griffith 


Tn addition to the large number of new and original monologues 
fn this book, it contains also a large colleetion of other features— 
such, for instance, asa Shadow Pantomime, a Chinese Wedding, 
@ Recitation with Lesson Help, a Play, a Monologue in Panto- 
mime, etc. The entertainments vary in length from five te 
twenty-five minutes, and are all of a high order of excellence. The 
book is brim full of the choicest and most artistic rain of enter- 
tainment. 


Sketches, Skits and Stunts 


By John T. McIntyre 
Good vaudeville material, amateur or professional, is hard te 
get. This book contains an abundance of the best for both 
classes, all written to order by one who knows how to do it well. 
There are jokes, monologues, dialogues, stories, songs, sketches, 
parodies, short farces, and talking acts of the rapid-fire variety, 
all constructed for strictly laughing purposes. 


How to Become a Public Speaker 
By William Pittenger 

This work shows inasimple and concise way how any person 
of ordinary perseverance and good common sense may become a 
ready and effective public speaker. He is here directed how to 
gather thoughts, how to arrange them to the best advantage, and 
how to form clear outlines. He is then told how to overcome 
timidity, how to secure ease and fluency of language, and how to 
acquire such a mastery of the arts of the orator as will give him 
confidence and power. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
925-27 FILBERT STREFT PHILADELPHIA 


Entertainment Books for Young People 


Young Folks’ Dialogues 
By Charles C. Shoemaker 
For Young People of Fifteen Years 

Dialogues rendered by young people are always enjoyable, being 
relished by the parents and friends as well as by the youthful 
performersthemselves. This book of dialogues, wholesome in tone, 
yet sparkling with wit and full of unexpected and novel situations,. 
supplies just the material needed. Liberal provision has been 
made for anniversary occasions, and for church, school, and home 
entertainments. All the matter has been written especially for 
this work. 


How to Celebrate Thanksgiving and 
Christmas 


By Alice M. Kellogg 
For Children from Five to Fifteen Years 

The real jolly, kindly spirit of the great holidays is in every 
page of this book. For Thanksgiving there are complete programs 
consisting of recitations, songs, etc. ‘‘What the Months Bring,’’ 
for twelve girls; ‘‘ Thanksgiving in the Past and Present,’’—a play 
with tableaux. For Christmas there are ten songs, fifteen recita- 
tions, Christmas Tree Drill, three Christmas plays, three exercises. 
For Autumn there are songs, recitations and plays. Carleton, 
Whittier, Hood, Holland, Barbauld, Longfellow, and many other 
poets are represented. 


Christmas Entertainments 
By Alice M. Kellogg 


For Children from Five to Fifteen Years 

In this volume, the aim has been to depart from the familiar cut 
and dried holiday material, and to supply something new and 
novel for Christmas occasions. Here are gathered together carols, 
new and quaint; plays, tableaux, and charades. Besides these 
there are many plans for Christmas parties, novel, and truly as 
characteristic of the season as the old Yule Tide of “‘ merry Eng- 
land.” 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA 


Entertainment Books for Young People 


New Year and Mid-Winter Exercises 
By Alice M. Kellogg 


For Children frem Ten to Fifteen Years 
These exercises were expressly prepared for the winter time, 
and are therefore most satisfactory for the indoor season. There 
are drills, exercises, plays for celebrating winter holidays and 
birthdays, and programs for parties; all designed to make oar 
what would be the most trying season of the year. 


Successful Entertainments 
By Willis N. Bugbee 


For Children from Five to Fifteen Years 
This book is full of original dialogues, drills, tableaux, panto» 
mimes, medleys, parades, etc. It contains material in prose and 
verse for both sexes and for any number of characters. Provision 
is made for the various holidays, for birthdays, and patriotic 
occasions. It is equally suited to the needs of a school, church or 
home. 


Young Folks’ Entertainments 
By E. C. & L. J. Rook 
For Children from Five to Fifteen Years 

The constant demand is for something new and original for 
School and Home Entertainments. The authors, from a large 
experience, have prepared a book that exactly meets this want. 
Novelty and variety mark every page. Dialogues, Tableaux, 
Motion Songs, Drills, Shadows, Charades in Pantomime, and 
Motion Recitations in Concert represent some of the divisions of 
the book. All are adapted to the common school stage and 
require but little costume and few properties, Everything is 
original and written especially for this work. 


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a es 


Practical Elocution 


By J. W. SHormakgr, A. M. 
309 Pages 


Vhis book is the outgrowth of 
actual class-room experienee, and 
is a practical, common-sense treat- 
ment of the whole subject. It is 
clear and concise, yet comprehen- 
sive, and is absolutely free from the 
entangling technicalities that are so frequently found in 
books of this class. . 

Conversation is made the basis of all forms of 
delivery, and, by gradual stages the student is led up to 
the highest form of dramatic expression and oratory. 

General principles and practical processes are pre- 
sented for the cultivation of strength, purity, and flexi- 
bility of Voice, for the improvement of distinctness and 
correctness in Articulation, and for the development of 
power in delivery. 

The work includes a systematic treatment of Ges- 
ture, a brief system of the gymnastics of Vocal Develop- 
ment and grace of movement, and a chapter on Methods 
ef Instruction, for teachers. 

Many excellent selections are appended, affording 
the largest variety for drill in the classroom, and popular 
as readings and recitations. 

Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon re- 
ceipt of price. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
925-927 Filbert Street, Philadelphia 


imu Hl nl 


Expression and efficiency go fend in hand. 


The power of clear and forceful expression brings couf- a 
dence and poise at all times—in private gatheringse1 in ace 
diseussion, in society, in business. 


It ie an invaluable asset to any man or woman. It can often ~ > 
be turned into money, but it is always a real joy. | < 


Iu learning to express thought, we learn to command isi 
thought itself, and thought is power. You can have thia 


power if you will. : 


Whoever has the power of clear expression is ave surg 


eof himself. 4 im 
he power of expression leads to: “a 
The ability to think “on your feeq“ 
Successful public speaking 4 F 
Effective recitals 3 4 


The mastery over other mindg 

Social prominence 

Business success ; 

Efficiency in any undertaking F 4 
Are these things worth while? | 


They are all successfully taught at The National School a ie. 
Blocution and Oratory, which during many years has de 
veloped this power in hundreds of men and women. 


3 


A catalogue giving full information as to how any of these 
aecomplishments may be attained will be sent free on request. 


THE NATIONAL SCHOOL OF 
ELOCUTION AND ORATORY 


4012 Chestnut Street Philadelphia 


